Stolen
by WorstPenNameEver
Summary: He decides to snatch her from the jaws of death, not realizing there's a price to pay. Post-Thor, pre-Avengers. LokiXDarcy.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N no one will ever bother to read:** I almost didn't post this. I have another fic I've put on hold for almost a year, and I feel so ashamed for those who had me on their alert lists when I'm posting this fic (which belongs to a completely different fandom), instead of updating the other one. I apologize D: Anyway, I've almost finished this one so I might as well just put it out there for people to enjoy (hopefully).

**Warnings:** this will be** very, very dark** (bolded for those who decided to skip this. Ha! I got you to read part of it), also, it'll contain a lot of **crack **(gotcha again!), crack, crack, everywhere, accordingly to this pairing. So a lot of dark stuff and a lot of crack. M for violence and adult themes and sexual situations and shit. That would be all. You are dismissed, bitches.

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**Chapter 1**

She blinked a few times, trying to get rid of the snowflakes that were settling on her eyelids, but even that was a task by itself. Closing her eyes - if even for a second - was like surrendering herself to the darkness. The whiteness scenery, which comprised the winter sky delimited by the peaks, stung her eyes; the dull pain translating into a headache that throbbed, slowly, connecting a nerve from the back of her head to the bridge of her nose. Still, she couldn't allow herself to blink. Every blink meant subtracting one beat to her heart, and she didn't know how that was even logical, just that it felt true to herself.

She couldn't move, except to force her chest to rise and fall with each breath with so much effort, it was as if an elephant was standing on her diaphragm, constricting it, making every intake of air shallower than the last.

"You will lend me your mind, mortal," said a voice that she heard with a sharpness that was frightening; perhaps, being on the verge of one's death brought clarity to everything.

Either way, she tried to speak, gathering all the air in her lungs to reply to the strange request, but the outburst came in the form of a cough, a choked sob that brought up a torrent of blackness. She had lasted too far now to die by choking on her own blood, so she willed herself to cough out the rest of it that pooled in the back of her throat, her entire body shaking.

A growl was uttered by the owner of that harsh voice that had spoken to her, this time not sounding as crystalline as before. "Behold now, human," he commanded as he stepped until the white landscape was suddenly graced with a tall and lean figure draped all in black, "the last thing you shall see before dying: Loki, son of Odin, immortal of Asgard. I grant you that _much_." The way he uttered 'much', with sneer and disgust, the word escaping the jail of his clenched teeth, made her wonder whether she had already died and God – or whoever - was giving her some amusement, indeed. A trolling angel, perhaps.

She smiled, and the immortal must have confused it for an expression of awe for he, too, closed his lips in a slight smirk, contented, his eyes growing darker as he watched her with a manic intent.

Suddenly, the dull headache inside her head became a hammering pain, the aforementioned nerve becoming of hot iron needles. She closed her eyes with force, clenching her teeth. Then, as quickly as it came, it was gone, and she let herself sigh with relief.

"Nothing," said he with a casual tone. "The impact must have erased your memories. Your mind is now a blank extension. It is fortunate that you should die free of regrets."

Something was happening to her vision because, every time she focused her eyes on something, the rest - the background - became but a hazy grey mist that was born in the borders and threatened to grow until it covered everything and she became blind and, surely, dead, at last.

"It is so dark," she said, focusing her eyes on his hand that was clutching a strange-looking staff, the skin resembling the evenness of wax, flawless. "As if… fa-falling," she managed to croak out, her voice breaking, "I'm falling. _Oh, God_," she breathed out, as if a realizing, at last, that _that_ was it, she was actually going to die. "I'm so scared," she confessed then, on the verge of tears. "Don't wanna die, don't wanna die…" she repeated until her voice became but a whisper, an infinite prayer. Paths of uninterrupted tears were created from the corners of her eyes just to disappear in her tangled hair.

Was that the death of a human what he was witnessing? Loki had watched thousands die, but watching _her_, contemplating the fear in her eyes, and the futile effort to cling onto the last rays of light, it was almost intimate. Even if the human healers managed to help her, it would be too late. She lay there, her crushed bones turned to dust, her flesh but a container of broken insides, and the blood that spilled from her mouth tainting the snow-like skin of her face.

And she spoke of darkness as if it was an abysm that rested underneath her. She wanted to avoid that fall.

A quick pang of bitterness hit him, disappearing in a second, distorting his expression into one of discomfort.

And, then, the mortal's face relaxed, as his own did moments before he realized he was indeed falling into that abysm, accepting his fate with a collected calm.

He quickly got down on one knee, taking her hand, raising the broken arm with it. Conjuring magic was like breathing to him, it wasn't about power anymore, but will and whim. She would fall no longer for he would catch her.

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I accept glad tidings in the form of reviews and suggestions and flames.


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks for the reviews and alerts, you guys! *tears, tears everywhere* I promised myself to wait for the beta to reply me before posting this chapter... guess what? I suck at waiting. Enjoy.

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**Chapter 2**

The night fell, and black was the cloak that covered that perennial winter sky.

Soon, the darkness was disrupted by streaks of light and voices of alarm. She blinked a few times, unable to move, his body feeling that lingering and disarming pain after days and days of exertion. She couldn't remember going to the gym, but she thought very hard, thinking that it was of no consequence for even her own name was like a blur, an elusive concept. It was funny the thoughts that one's own mind conjured while suffering from amnesia.

The voices came closer, speaking in a language unknown to her, and she hoped she hadn't forgotten how to speak, though it seemed so implausible: she could understand her own thoughts just fine!

Some dogs barked, and the voices approached. She was being rescued.

Soon, it was a commotion of voices, hands and faces. It was all too much, and she felt herself vanish into dizziness, then more darkness followed as she fainted.

She awoke to a prickling sensation in her arm and the kind face of a nurse smiling at her. The woman left with the metal tray after taking her blood.

"Wait," she had intended to yell, but it came out as a fit of coughs. God, was she thirsty!

She stirred, giving pause as she felt the aching in her limbs, her mouth letting out a moan. She looked down. She was wearing a hospital gown of the same pale green color as the bedding. She raised a hand to her face, taking in her chipped red nail polish, only evidence of any damage because the skin of her arm looked untarnished. She got out of bed, her feet standing on the icy floor, and she felt surprisingly energetic and, well, alive.

She almost ran to the bathroom and turned on the lights; her visage in the mirror was momentarily wiped out by the blinding flash. She blinked.

There was nothing, no scars, no stitches. She took off the gown, frantically, and the extension of her skin glowed under the halogen lamps. Did she need glasses or something? She couldn't even find the light stretch marks that had graced her breasts since she entered into puberty. Her skin was an extension of uninterrupted… perfection. Even her hair - though it was flat -, it looked shiny, almost plastic, and darker, somehow. Only problem was the lack of color in her cheeks, due to… blood loss? She remembered the blood gushing out of the endless wounds and gashes that had covered her entire body… and bones, white as paper, sticking out of the holes.

She couldn't believe it. It was like remembering a very obscure dream someone had once told her. It inspired a feeling of _déjà vu_ in her.

Then she remembered she was actually supposed to wear glasses, but her vision was perfect, 20/20. She could even read the small letters printed on the side of the sink: "made in Norway".

Holy shit! What?

She wasn't Norwegian… was she?

"Shit," she muttered, looking at her reflection in anxiety. "Shit, shit. Hey! I can speak… something." But then a strange thought came to rest in her mind: What if, in some twisted way, she could understand herself, but everyone else just heard her talk gibberish?

She then noticed the colorful hospital wristband. Surely, that would clear out any doubts. No luck, it was written in some strange language. Fuck this Norwegian bullshit!

That's when a doctor entered her room, and she quickly kicked the bathroom door closed to put on the gown. "Out in a minute!"

She walked outside the bathroom, a hand behind her back, covering her ass exposed by the gown slit.

"You do fine now, yes?" asked the doctor, and she almost bounced in joy at hearing that man speaking _her_ language. "We did tests," he continued in his broken English. "All perfect, all right." He looked through the file in his hand, and then took out an x-ray film and placed it against one of those bright squares lamps thingies… God, she needed her memory _and_ vocabulary back. "But here," he continued, pressing a single finger atop her head, "something happened, but I cannot see what. It is right," he pointed at the x-rays with a pen he took from the pocket of his coat (like a proper doctor, she thought), "there's nothing bad, all good, but you cannot remember, yes?"

"Yes," she said, nodding, and sounding very happy. This pleased the doctor.

"It's probably the shock," he explained. "But no injuries and nothing bad in the blood test. That's very strange."

"Tell me about it."

"Your name is Loki, correct?" he said, smiling.

"What? No!" she almost yelled, gesturing with her hands, and shaking her head. "That's a weird-ass name," she said before an image of black against white entered her mind, sudden as a blinding flash. She blinked the impression away.

"No? But you screamed it when you got here. We asked you and you screamed 'Loki'."

"That's strange," she said, trying to ignore the unsettling feeling in her belly, like cramps, really bad cramps. She looked down to the hollow in the gown that formed between her thighs, expecting to find she was being paid a visit by Aunt Claret. No such luck. "Any chance I can get to eat something, doctor? I'm famished."

"Ah, food, yes. I'll tell the nurse, but, after that, sleep, yes?" he said, gesturing a pantomime by putting his hands together against his cheek. With that, he left.

"My name's not…" she tried to say it, but it was gone. "What's my name?" a picture came to mind: a woman smiling, showing a row of yellowish teeth framed by red lipstick, a cigarette between her fingers, the filter stained in that same red.

Her mother leaned against the kitchen counter, smoking and drinking lemonade. The sun was blocked every time she raised her glass, the shine getting caught in the liquid, painting the opposite wall in those wavy shadows that light would cast against bodies of water.

It was summer, and she was watching her daughter dance and spin around the kitchen. The child's rosy cheeks were smeared with chocolate fudge. They laughed, and sang to the tunes of The Supremes.

"Darcy, Darcy!" her mother had called her with a voice that was equal parts excitement and alarm when the child climbed on top of the kitchen table to dance. She fell hard that day, sustaining a fracture to her arm. Her mother had laughed all the way to the hospital. She would uncontrollably laugh whenever she was nervous or scared: a trait that Darcy inherited.

Darcy looked at her arm, expecting to find the old scar, but it was gone. At least, she remembered her name.

"Darcy Lewis," she said aloud, her voice sad and lingering with the feeling of nostalgia. She remembered nothing else, like she had awakened from a very deep slumber.

She ate, and fell asleep, feeling surprisingly heavy with fatigue.

A dream, like a nebular, formed in her mind's eye, blurry at first, but then vivid and colorful. She saw the man again, the one with skin like wax, flawless and perfectly even. His hair was black and bright like the feathers of a crow, and his eyes shone, even when the glow was placated by an expression of disgust. He had a sad expression when he looked at her, when he took her hand, and…

"Oh, my god," Darcy gasped, breathless, awakening at last. Her heart hammering in her chest so fast it hurt, it robbed her of precious oxygen. She wiped the sweat off her brow, and settled one hand on her chest and the other on the bed rail, gripping it.

She felt a strange urge, something almost animal and instinctive, in her gut. She swung her feet outside the bed, and ran outside. The hospital was just a hospital, nothing remarkable, except for the signs in Norwegian; thankfully, they were also in English. She ran, not caring about her exposed posterior. It was like something was pulling her, an invisible thread or bond that, whenever she decided to ignore it, it would tug at her heart, stealing a shaky whine from her lips.

Breathless, she stood by the open doors of the chapel. This was her best shot. Perhaps she had a mission or a purpose - even a debt - and this was her last resource at making contact.

She wasn't even religious, but he was a god, right? Or so he had claimed.

She looked at the wooden statue of Jesus Christ, blood tears running down his face twisted in pain. She hoped she wasn't going to hell for this, she just felt _so_ lost.

She fell to her knees, his rear coming into contact with the back of her shins, and she quickly removed the strands of dark hair that clung to the clammy skin of her face and neck. She gathered her hands, lacing the fingers together, and rested them against her forehead.

"Please, please," she muttered to no end, actually willing the world to listen to her. She closed her eyes, wishing harder, thinking only of that man, if he could be called a 'man'. The prayers left her mouth in warm, short whispers. There never was a more desperate soul.

But she soon surrendered, feeling stupid at the mere thought of conjuring a Norse deity by praying – in a catholic chapel, no less. She let her arms fall freely by her sides, her shoulder slumping as she raised her face to the altar.

She stayed there for what felt like hours, ignoring the pain in her folded legs and the cold that slipped through the slit in her gown.

"Do you remember now, mortal?" asked a voice that came from the shadows, strong in its delivery, yet not in its volume, like the commanding tone of a king. An echo lingered.

Darcy jumped, frightened, but was unable to stand. Instead, she wriggled away, pushing herself away with her hands and feet. She had reached the middle of the chapel when the figure appeared – actually appeared - from the darkness behind the altar.

"Do you wish to bargain for your life?" and the man or god (Darcy needed to make up her mind) in question stood in the very middle, by the stairs, blocking the very statue of Jesus, hands in his back. It was taller than Darcy remembered, taller than it was necessary. She felt very afraid.

He was definitely intimidating with the layers and layers of black leather and metal that covered him from neck to toe in the form of a strange, but impressive garment. It was hard to describe, it looked like the combination of a samurai armor and something a king would wear to battle, a very cruel king.

His skin was exactly as she remembered, though: smooth and flawless, unreal and unsettling. His features were sharp, yet somehow delicate, almost regal: the noble and wide forehead; the straight eyebrows; the eyes which she couldn't describe in form, except that they held a sad light; the thin lips and the square, but narrow jaw.

"Be advised: if you dare speak a lie, I shall know. I will endeavor to spare your life when the time comes, but your friend will not have the same fate."

"Wha-?" Darcy let out in a whisper, the expression on her face one of complete amusement. "Am I dreaming?" she asked, expecting no answer, for, as soon as he was about to speak again, she let out a laugh. "Oh, my god! This is… what is _this_? You gotta stop it. It's not funny!" Yet she laughed again, ignoring how Loki's face twisted in absolute anger.

"You will learn the proper tone for addressing a god of Asgard!" he said in that commanding voice, descending the stairs slowly, despite his obvious anger. "You will tell me the whereabouts of the woman known as Jane Foster... you will help me undo Thor."

That had silenced Darcy, who now remained quiet and still on the floor, her eyes as big as saucers as the god approached her.

"I will snatch her from his arms and use her as I please. Then, I shall dispose of her and of your other friend under my command, Erik Selvig." He closed his hand in a tight fist, a vein protruding in his forehead. "I will use them until they have become nothing but empty carcasses. And you shall serve, unless you wish to become ashes at the hands of Loki."

Somewhere along his speech, Darcy had spaced out, trying to remember the faces of these Jane and Erik he mentioned. Any face could have matched those names, any face, literally. There was nothing in her mind. She barely remembered being accepted into college. What year was it again?

"It was but a lie after all," Loki concluded, not taking another step. Darcy saw that strange staff appear in his hand. It had a blade at the end it, one that glistened with the light as he raised it. "I should have left you to die and rot in that forest. Maggots would have a better use of you."

"No! wait!" Darcy put her hands up, and then she got on her knees like she did when she was praying. Her action, surveyed by the god with great attention, brought peace to the storm in his eyes; he even let down the weapon. "Take me to him. He's working for you, right? Erik, that's it. You do that and I'll tell you everything."

He smirked. "That is not how you bargain with a god, mortal. You tell me what I wish to know and hope that I take pity on you, pathetic girl!" his voice raised until he was almost yelling. Then, as quickly, he collected himself, licking his lips clean.

"I'm not lying," Darcy continued, her voice becoming very high-pitched. "If I see him, I know I will remember! I'm sure! That's how it works, right? I have seen a few movies and, like, they see someone from the past and, bam!" she snapped her fingers, "Memories are back!"

Loki's eyes narrowed, and his mouth closed in a tight 'o'. He looked positively confused.

"I can't get to them, either way," he continued, just making an observation. He brought a hand to his chin, and turned around. "Your memories, that's it. And, unless you are capable of wielding a great magic, I doubt you are able of consciously hiding them from me."

"I promise you, dude-god-Loki! Shit," Darcy said, putting her palm flat against her chest. "I'll tell you everything."

"Yet your desire to please me is," he lifted his chin, closing his eyes for a second, "sincere… almost desperate."

"I'm very desperate," she admitted, letting out a nervous laugh. He gazed upon her.

"Why?" he asked.

"You saved my life," she breathed out, smiling a little, but looking confused as to why he would even make that question. "I don't know what you did to me," she confessed. "My complexion is like a baby's bottom, I tell ya that much."

"You are willing to betray your friends to help me?" Loki asked with a hint of delight. He looked somewhat deranged; maybe it was the combination of his gaze fixed on her and his smirk which, with lips as thin as his, was just a line.

"I don't know them," she said, but couldn't lie when it came to admit she didn't care. This being - this _god _- was going to kill them and she would be partially guilty.

"You lament the future loss of a friend whom you remember not," he pointed out. "The hearts of the Midgardians know to boundaries to folly."

Darcy stood up, not taking her eyes off Loki. She wanted to end this as soon as possible, she wanted to get home. She wasn't even sure if her mother was still alive, whether she had died during that period of time that was now lost to Darcy, but she was coming back home.

Loki tilted his head, looking at the girl from head to toe, literally… she was barefoot. Midgardians came in all sizes - he knew that much -, their genes not obeying the rules of a homogenous race, but that mortal was just too short. Killing her would be but an act of caprice, there would be no gain in gathering the energy to dispose of one so pitiful.

It was strange to watch her breathe, be so full of life, smiling even, despite the fear in her eyes. He remembered how, the day before, she was a pulp of bones and flesh, crying, begging for the darkness to go away. He wondered whether he would have smiled like that had his father saved him.

The girl adopted a posture of self-consciousness at the inspection. She crossed her arms, looking down at her feet, her toes curling. "Well?" she inquired, beaming.

Loki reached out with his hand, palm up.

Darcy remembered his hand very well. When she put her own on top, which was almost half the size and not as beautiful (all of the sudden, she felt very embarrassed of having chubby fingers), it felt cold and firm, like it belonged to a statue, yet, when she curled her fingers to form a fist, her nails barely scraping the skin, it was soft against her digits. She wondered what a fortune-teller could say when inspecting Loki's lifeline... perhaps: "you will live a shit ton of years?"

"At what are you laughing?" Loki questioned her.

Darcy shook her head, hoping he wouldn't get crazy angry again. "I'm alive," she said, not exactly answering the question. "We are alive," she declared, ready to throw her arms in the air and spin in circles around him like a hippie on peyote. She refrained, though. She was still very naked under the gown, and his godly majesty could find offensive her exposure.

Shit, he could read her thoughts.

"Please, Darcy," she thought to herself, "don't think about your butt, don't think about your naked butt… too late. He saw it… in my brain. Shit."

His gaze lowered, scanning the end of the gown that barely reached her thighs, and then up, to the hem of the collar. "What sorcery did that woman employ to seduce Thor? It is common knowledge you Midgardian women use your bodies to tempt men, you pace in front of them, acting proud and detached, very much like a primitive ritual of boasting, as animals do."

She couldn't even start thinking what to answer him. Darcy had had enough of 'awkward time with a god'. It was time to get cracking, and get her memories back. She cleared her throat, putting on a fake smile. His attention was quickly brought to her face, to her cheek, more precisely.

"Do these hold a purpose?" He let go of her hand, and brought his index finger to her face, pressing the skin to a spot above her mouth. "They remained, even after I healed you."

"Ha!" Darcy exclaimed, covering both her cheeks with her hands. "They are beauty spots." Obviously, Loki found the name majorly stupid because his expression was one of complete annoyance, his eyes like slits. He even sighed a little.

"We have no time to waste," he declared, taking her wrist, and disappearing into thin air, along with her.

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REVIEWS GIVE ME LIFE AND ENCOURAGE ME TO KEEP GOING! R&R


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks again for the kind words. I believe 3 out of the 4 reviewers guests so I couldn't answer them D:

One said she was curious to see how my version of Darcy and Loki would turn out. The thing is, you guys, I'm trying *my best* to keep him canon to movie!Loki, meaning he'd be a full asshole. But it wouldn't be fun otherwise, right? Also, I was going through the story stats. There was a reader from Norway lol. I admit I just went google image searching on Tromsø. Any inconsistencies should be pointed out either way. Enjoy.

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**Chapter 3**

It was like jumping from the summit of the Everest to plunge into the deep blue sea, like if she was inside an elevator that was unstoppably falling just to crash against the concrete, _except_… it was over the next second, and she felt as if the only thing falling was her stomach to her very feet.

Darcy's legs gave out, and she fell to the floor like a puppet. "That was _so_ not…" she swallowed the rising bile crawling up her throat with an expression of disgust. "I'm gonna need some Pepto if we keep travelling like this."

Loki ignored her, and walked away.

It was very hot and humid, but also very dark. Darcy looked around. It looked like they were inside an abandoned temple, a circular building with one central chamber that was brightly illuminated, which acted as a light bulb. This room, this space, it lacked walls, but it was delimited by curtains of sheer plastic.

She stood up, cleaning the filth off her hands against her gown, and slowly walked to that room, attracted to it like a moth to the fire. Her presence caught the attention of the dozens of soldiers and scientists that were scattered around the area, working on the machinery around, generally looking busy. Though some stopped to stare at her, their eyes didn't look at her for too long. Everyone had seen her arriving with the god. No one would dare touch or unsettle her.

Loki was talking to a man, a middle-aged man who, despite his disheveled appearance, was beaming with joy.

"Someone has come pay you a visit," Loki announced, steeping out of the way so the man could see the girl standing behind him.

"Darcy!" the man had said her name with such joy that she felt a twinge of bashfulness at not remembering him. It was, like, the long forgotten relative who couldn't believe how grown up you've gotten, all over again. "It's been forever, kid." The smile on his face and the wrinkles by the corner of his eyes somewhat diminished his very rugged state, removed the attention from the dark circles under his bloodshot eyes and the sick pallor of his skin.

Darcy stood behind the plastic curtain. Without waiting for an answer, the man turned around, getting back to work.

Darcy remained very still, feeling that gaze upon her. She couldn't remember anything, and he was – surely - very angry, angry beyond any attempt at excuses.

"I-I-I'm sorry," she stammered very low, looking down. Though, she only felt disappointed at her own mind for letting herself down. "It'll come back. I promise."

"Making promises you cannot hope to keep," said he, and she was surprised at how calm he sounded. It had come out very nonchalant. At least he knew when to stop being a jackass.

He was gone, she felt him disappear, though she dared not look at him. Once she was sure he wasn't coming back, she scurried inside the area where Erik worked intently, welding wires. She felt a strange urge to hug him, and she did, throwing her arms around him, pressing her cheek against his broad back. He was warm, soft, and comfortingly mushy, but, _goddamn_, he needed to take a shower.

"Hey, kid, what's wrong?" he said, putting his own hand over one of hers that rested on his pot belly.

When he turned to work on another table, Darcy noticed his eyes. They were blue, but of an unnatural blue hue, shining with the same color as the gem on Loki's staff. Also, they were empty, void of life. His voice and manners were surely his own, but he was an empty shell, a carcass.

"You gotta tell me how to get the hell out of here, Erik." The name sounded natural to her ears. "I need to come back to New York. I _need_ to see my mother and have her showing me gazillion pictures of 'baby me'. That or shock treatment. Either one is fine."

Erik ignored her, completely lost to his work, and she was startled by a catcall and some whistles. She blushed, reaching with her hand to cover her butt.

"Look, if I don't get my memory back, Unabomber over there is going to fry my ass," she started to frantically whisper, "and, look at him! He's cray cray _and_ powerful. Did he mention how we got here? We teleported. If I wasn't so high on Paracetamol, I would be freaking out. God! I'm so not buying into that Hollywood crap ever again! Dealing with amnesia is so much easier when you live in a romcom."

But Erik was deaf to the world… or was pretending to be, at least. Hysteria was not something you'd want to deal with when working for a megalomaniac higher being.

Not one shred of memory grazed her mind as she sat under one tables. She watched Erik's legs and feet moving restlessly. Pee breaks were apparently forbidden during work hours.

Darcy had seen Loki sitting on the dirty floor, seemingly meditating. She didn't know whether he had moved during that last hour, but she wasn't about to check. He might have saved her life, and she wasn't about to make him regret that decision.

Darcy reached with his hand, searching blindly on top of the table for Erik's cellphone. She knocked over some tools and Erik spun around, looking like a hobo on crack whose cardboard box was being stolen by some punk kids. She quickly retrieved her hand to her chest, the phone now in her possession.

It felt familiar enough to handle a device she couldn't quite recognize, like riding a bike kind of thing. He unlocked the screen, searching for the address book. The battery was almost dead.

"What are you doing?" asked someone that wasn't Erik, someone standing outside the plastic curtains.

"Wha-what?" Darcy quickly hid the phone behind her. "I'm giving it a shoot, see if I can beat Erik's score in Angry Birds." She smiled, realizing she had remembered something - something completely useless, but it was something.

It would have worked, hadn't the guy taken her by the arm and dragged her out from under the table. His expression was stoic, not at all amused by her comment. And his eyes…

"Sir, I've caught this girl trying to make contact," the man announced, twisting Darcy's arm, trying to make her drop the cellphone.

Darcy bit down on a moan of pain, instead clenching her teeth as she fought back with the burning in her shoulder. Her arm felt about to snap in two.

Loki stood up, looking quite bored. He towered over the guy, but this didn't intimidate the soldier as he approached the god, dragging the struggling girl with him.

"Release her," Loki commanded, and he was obeyed without a question. The soldier retired, giving a quick nod. "Hand it over," he said, offering his open hand to her.

"_Fuck you_," Darcy said, dragging each word, slowly letting them roll out of her tongue with great pleasure. Before she knew it, she had taken a hand to clasp it over her mouth, her blue eyes widening greatly.

Loki smiled, showing a row of perfect teeth, wrinkling his nose and furrowing his brow in confused delight. "That was bold of you, mortal. You have courage, despite your complete lack of power."

"Are you going to kill me?" Darcy managed to mumble with her hand still over her mouth.

"Killing you would be like ending a child's life. It will bring me no form of amusement, nor any recognition. Know this, I regard you as such: a child, but I am in no mood to endure juvenile conduct. You shall part with the device now."

Darcy watched as the cellphone became a shimmering cloud of silver dust that blew from Loki's hand. It was cool that he could magically turn a cellphone into stardust, even when it was a dick move by Darcy's standards.

"Can I sit by you?" she blurted out as he spun around. "I'll be quiet as mouse." She turned to look at the scattered men working. She felt out of place. It made her wish she hadn't summoned Loki. She was almost sure she could talk him into teleporting her back to the hospital.

He tilted his head, giving Darcy a good sight of his profile. "Not that I doubt your capacity at accomplishing such a task," he sounded serious when delivering the sarcastic response, "but you will return to your friend, you will attempt to get your memories back. Some have even seemed to…" he scowled, as if asserting to declare order in the mess inside her mind, "have returned, despite your lack of awareness."

Darcy didn't move, though. She didn't want to come back, parade in front of a bunch of men while wearing nothing but a gown.

"As long as I am here, no harm will come to you," he added, at last, before walking away.

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Barton, you bastard. R&R, my pretties.

On another note, The Avengers got leaked. Tumblr is going full on crazy on this. The Loki tag is taking over the world. Deleted scenes everywhere (scenes that I fully consider canon). Not saying that you should illegally download it, but if you do, pre-order the damn thing. Or do whatever you want lol. I ain't judging no one.


	4. Chapter 4

Trigger warning. Dark stuff.

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**Chapter 4**

It was already a torture having to wait for endless hours, not knowing whether it was day or night. Yet Darcy felt very compelled to piss Loki off so he would finally end her misery. She had a feeling she could really push it with the guy. He openly admitted he was willing to be patient.

She had managed to convince Erik to lend her his watch, and now the heavy accessory dangled from her too tiny wrist. Soon, she found out that staring at the second hand move was even worse. She tried to concentrate, she could surely manage to bend time if she eye-fucked the watch face without blinking. Her perspective on magic had changed a great deal since she met a god.

Then, she was interrupted by a loud growl coming from her stomach.

"Hungry, princess?" asked a man with a hoarse voice, a different man than the last one. He stood outside the curtains, and Darcy couldn't tell - for the lights shone against the plastic surface - whether he was grinning or showing his teeth in an unspoken threat, sort of like a rabid dog.

Darcy wriggled away, her back parallel to the wall. The man laughed, removing the curtain with one beefy hand.

"Now, what would a god want with a pretty thing like you?" He squatted in front of the table.

A pressing sensation was born in the back of Darcy's head, an alarm that made her stay completely still.

The skin of his hands and face – the only parts not covered by his black uniform - were tan and marred with scars. One of his eyes – his good one - was blue; the other was more of a milky color, probably made of glass. He was such a tired representation of an archetype (Ruthless mercenary. Exhibit A), that Darcy would have laughed in his face hadn't she been so close to soil herself.

The man raised a hand to touch her cheek, and, without actually wanting it, Darcy threw her head back, producing a very loud thud when it hit the wall. His fingers had an acrid smell and his nails were almost black with filth. Darcy grimaced, which made him laugh.

"Picky, aren't we?" he whispered, approaching his face to hers, his words coming out in heavy and rancid heaves of breath. "After the god has tired of you, there's a _long_ line of men ready to," he licked his lips, "fell the warm of a tight pussy."

Darcy stopped breathing. The pressing sensation of danger now was in her chest, making her lightheaded with the knowledge of her vulnerable and exposed state.

He had noticed how the bright lights made the fabric of her gown almost see-through. He took great pleasure in outlining the silhouette of her large breasts. The shape of her nipples was quite noticeable under the thin garment. "Cold down there? Why don't you come out so I can warm you up?"

Erik remained unfazed. There was only one name she could shout to save herself, but her throat and lungs had collapsed, and she barely managed to utter a pathetic cry.

He did come, though. And when his black figure appeared in the corner of Darcy's sight, she felt herself deflate with the longest sigh.

Loki stood outside the curtains, though, waiting for the man to rise and confront him. The mercenary had, at least, the courage to stand up and look him in the eye.

Darcy just blinked, and, the next second, the three of them were staring at the mercenary's hand, or the space where his hand should have been, for there was nothing but blood gushing out of the wrist like a geyser propelled by every dying heartbeat, tainting the curtain, bathing Loki's silhouette with a red light.

All three pair of eyes, showing expressions that ranged from boredom, shock and disbelief, watched as the severed limb fell by Darcy's feet, splattering blood over her gown, the fingers still moving, like the legs of a dying spider.

Then, Loki's hand shot out from behind the curtain and grabbed the man's throat, crushing his windpipe. The mercenary fell to the floor flat on his back, his eyes mere inches away from the wriggling hand.

His face started to bloat and redden as he struggled to inhale precious oxygen, but he failed, dying, painfully and slowly. It took him almost five minutes to pass out, and Darcy was glad when he finally closed his eyes so she wasn't able to gaze anymore upon his expression of pure terror and desperation. He did shake, though, as if having a seizure. Finally he arched his back a bit, and his body slumped on the floor.

"Come on," Erik finally complained, "this will slow me down. Have someone clean this up." He sounded more like he was complaining about a stain of wine on the carpet, not a man that had bled to death by his very feet.

The pool of blood began to spread on the concrete floor, a path coming very close to make contact with Darcy's knees. It was impossible for her to back away any further, unless she could cross through the wall, but that didn't stop her from trying.

"Come," said Loki, and she shot out from under the table to cling onto the god, her hands sliding inside the layers of the heavy coat, grasping handfuls of fabric. She didn't realize she was crying, until she saw the dark spots on the front of his clothes from where she had pressed her cheek.

His arms hovered around her figure for a while, trying to come to terms with her need for comfort. His expression, which Darcy didn't see, was stoic, slightly annoyed. When she felt the girl's knees bending, he placed a hand on her side, helping the weight off her shaky legs. "You wish to forget that?"

"What?" she asked very low, wasted to the effort of having to fight out another wave of darkness that threatened to swallow her.

They sat by the spot where Loki used to meditate. Not far enough, Darcy thought, noticing how she could still make out the stain of blood running sluggishly down the plastic curtain. She pressed her cheek against his chest, very compelled to stare at the patterns in the fabric, diverting her thoughts from the fact that someone was already picking up the body to dispose of it.

Loki remained still as a statue, watching, with no actual interest, the remains being picked.

The shock of the mercenary's act and intentions and his gruesome death threatened to break the girl's psyche, Loki knew. This would hinder her recovery process, which, up to that moment, was going so well. She sat, still as an object, consumed by every dark thought. Situations – some worse than the truth - played in her mind endlessly. She was slowly shaking her head in incredulity and horror.

"You killed him," Darcy said, a scowl on her face, the salt of her tears creating red paths on her cheeks.

Loki laughed, harshly, a sound devoid of joy. He thought it absurd that she would care about _that. _It was laughable that she would, even to a minimal extent, lament the death of someone who was about to hurt her in the worst way, someone who would have tainted her with a darkness that she wouldn't have been able to ever wash away.

"It would be for the best if you forgot about this," he declared, running a hand down her hair, scraping the memory out of her mind, not knowing – or caring - whether this would hinder her capacity to recollect her past.

She fell asleep, curled against his form as he sat cross-legged, her mind free of corruption once more. She dreamt of her mother and of him, pieces here and there, glued together in an absurd dance.

He would, at least, do his best to stop her from falling into another abysm.

* * *

R&R. More crack and humour will promptly ensue.


	5. Chapter 5

I always feel super guilty when I post dark stuff. Like, you might consider this an apology, but I regret nothing. This pairing makes me write stuff that ranges from nightmarish to 'wtf did i just read' levels of crack.

Enter the crack, ladies and gentlemen.

* * *

**Chapter 5**

When she awoke, disoriented and groggy, her fists rubbing against her eyelids, the evidence of the past events was long removed. She stirred, propping herself up in one elbow. There was a dull pain on the front of her skull as if she was coming to her senses after a hard blow.

Loki looked down at her, strangely quiet. She was pressing the heel of her hand on that spot between her eyebrows, the small fingers curling. Perhaps, her mind had been too tender to tamper with. She was fragile, more so in the physical aspect. Though, the rawness of her thoughts held still some sort of stupid courage with which she faced the world. It might be because of her self-imposed laid-back attitude, but she never grasped the real gravity of the situation.

And neither had he, thinking she could just drop a prey among vultures and expect it to remain untouched. The light in her was a treat to most men. She was the kind to smile, and walk around unaware of the dangers and the eyes that watched her from the distance, bulging eyes that belonged to creatures of corruption and vice.

He had watched her sleep, and with what peace she rested. It angered him a little how unaware she was, how someone so weak could afford themselves to just let go, and lie in complete tranquility. She had barely moved, clear sign that she was tired and needed the rest.

Her mind just shut down completely, leaving only a bright and solitaire bulb amongst the darkness of her unconscious. Thoughts had floated here and there, too brittle and light to see them. Whenever he had tried to read them, they had popped at the touch like bubbles.

Yet, she remained still, curled against him. The front of her legs pressed against him, looking for a heat source, and her arms crossed on her chest, like the likings on the pharaohs' sarcophagi. A small hand, tight in a fist, had served as a pillow, pressed between her cheek and the floor.

He lied.

She did move, but ever so slightly to be noticed, unless one had been looking with close attention. She had even opened her mouth, as if struggling to say something. He watched, most carefully, the line of her red lips part, not realizing he was imitating her motion as he keep on watching. When her mouth closed, he couldn't help himself from putting the tip of his index finger on the bridge of her nose, tracing its curve as it descended; he reached the bow in the middle of her upper lip, so hard to notice it gave her mouth an appearance of being inflamed, and the color… it didn't help how its redness stood out from the paleness of her skin.

Small as she was, oblivious as she was, she was made perfect for the taking of those who wanted to taste innocence once more.

He reprimanded his own vicious nature. He had wanted to take her, and it perturbed that part of him that was still chivalrous and forbearing.

"How did I get here?" she asked, awakening him from his reverie. She sat up, staring at Erik's watch dangling from her wrist. Borrowing the watch was the last thing she remembered. It took her seconds to notice the stains of blood splattered on her gown. "Did I hurt myself?" She started to feel her torso and arms, looking for wounds.

"The scientist cut himself," Loki explained. "Nothing of consequence," he added, when her eyebrows started to lift in alarm. "You fainted at the sight of blood. I shouldn't have expected less from a pathetic mortal like you."

Darcy felt stupidly bold. She was tired, hungry and filthy – not to mention the freaking headache -, and not amount of magical threats would make her become a pushover. It was _on_. "You are such an a-hole. And, FYI, I'm not explaining what the 'a' stands for."

"Such knowledge out of my grasp, how could I ever cope?" he said, smirking a little.

Darcy grunted in frustration. This guy was at a whole new level of trash-talk that she wasn't ready to handle with, not with her current state. She stood up, but was stopped from walking away by Loki's hand grasping her wrist.

"Where are you going? It would be better if you stay." He sounded more serious this time.

"I'm checking up on Erik. One time, he sliced his finger cooking dinner…" She stopped abruptly, her serious expression gradually transforming into one of absolute joy. "It's coming back!" she squealed, fanning herself with her free hand in a ridiculous pantomime of stopping fake tears from falling. "Dude, did you do something to my head?" she asked Loki, and his own expression of joy was buried under a frown.

"Sit down," he ordered, and Darcy obeyed, not wanting to spoil her happy moment by another one of his mood swings. "I am not letting you out of my sight. I might invoke chaos, but you attract it with your very existence." And that, by itself, was quite the metaphor. He thought it might be a strange twist of fate, a fitting punishment. "Do you like Germany?"

Darcy raised one eyebrow. "Erm… it's not even in the same continent." Then she declared in a singsong voice, while giving him the side-eye: "Somebody needs to go back to kindergarten."

He let himself exhale a breathy laugh at her childish remark. "My knowledge in Midgardian geography might be obsolete, yes, but that is where we are heading in a few hours."

"Oh." She scowled, and pursed her lips in a tight pout.

"You disapprove," he noted, staring at her face up and down.

"Am I being kidnapped? Is that what this is?"

"You are free to leave anytime you want," he said, doing a motion with his hand, signaling the room around them.

"_Yeeeah_." She squinted, clicking her tongue. "I don't think you mean that. _At all_."

"No," he simply admitted with a stoic expression.

Darcy looked at him in disbelief, her mouth hanging open and her eyebrows lifting in mild amusement. She did it for so long, she couldn't help burst into laughter. "You lying bastard!" She even ventured to slap him in the shoulder. "So, what, I'm just tagging along? I'm your gown-wearing, amnesia-sufferer, mortal sidekick, slash, gopher?"

He squinted, assessing her for some moments. "I might even shrink you until you were as tall as my thumb." He brushed the length of said finger with his index one, way too slowly. The thing was that Darcy found his hands mesmerizing, and she quickly got lost in the meaning. "I could carry you in my pocket," he added with that wicked smirk of him. "It's not the first time I do it, and I enjoy a good jest from time to time." He finished by letting his hands rest on his knees.

"Yes?" Darcy kind of agreed, pressing her lips in a tight smile. "That sounds horrible," she said for good measure, not being able to come up with a proper answer. He was generally horrible, except for his hands. Those… well, they were _pretty_ fine.

"I appreciate the compliment," he said, sounding way too casual for someone who had been caught doing something wrong, like, namely, reading her mind again.

Darcy's head slowly turned away. She closed her eyes, and mouthed a low "fuck".

"You are blushing," he observed, brushing a knuckle against the curve of her cheekbone. Her trembling at his touch, it had been more like a mild seizure.

"Well, _yes_!" She started to pat her hair down, trying to play it cool. "I wish you would stop doing that. It's rude and annoying."

"It is but a necessity. It is better to pluck the intention out of you mind than analyzing every word you utter. They hardly convey the meaning behind them. You need to do something about that," he offered in the most condescending way possible; he even when as far as pressing a hand against his chest in a heartfelt gesture.

"Are you a virgin?"

This surprised him into laughter. He even threw his head back and all.

"No. I suppose you are _not_," Darcy sounded less amused. "Then, I guess it's easier to just go ahead and say it." She motioned with her hands, clearly struggling to form the sentence.

"I'm listening," he said, raising his eyebrows.

"Well, the thing is…" Darcy looked quite like a fish out of water. "Sometimes, we _all_ have thoughts. Impious thought, right? They just come, and there's nothing you can do."

"You wish me to make them real," he offered.

Darcy could say nothing; though, a monotone squeal, sort of like a dull siren, left her still open mouth as she gaped at him.

"_Noooooo_," she said with a deep voice, slowly shaking her head from side to side. "That's not exactly _it_. Not even close. Look, just… don't get inside my head and we are cool, okay?" Darcy sighed, trying to calm her fluttering heart. "Now this headache!" she complained, putting a hand on her forehead. She froze when she felt Loki's much larger hand cover her own, his skin warm and soothing, humming so very languidly, like the echo of a tuning fork spreading inside her skull.

It was good that she had asked him to stop reading her mind, because she was getting a little turned on by it.

"You are coming to Germany, yes?" he said in a harsh tone, contrasting to the caress he offered her. "This is no place for someone like you," he declared, instantly killing the happy mood with his more-serious-than-a-heart-attack frown of doom. He even removed the massage hand from his forehead. Not cool.

"So, I am being kidnapped," she concluded.

He wasn't even surprised that she managed to sound composed, if only a little annoyed. By her reaction, it was as if he had asked her to take out the garbage.

"Okay, so, do I get to make my own demands?"

"And what are these demands you speak of?" he asked, looking at her with some degree of delight.

"Common stuff," she continued. "I need a shower and food. Everyone here needs that, more of the former in some cases." She ignored what godly power he had that made him impervious to filth after sitting for hours in the floor covered in rubble and dirty water.

"Those sound reasonable enough."

"Are you serious?" she asked, half expecting him to just utter a "nah" any second now.

He nodded.

"So… when you say 'consent to my demands'," This had piqued her attention, definitely. She sat with her legs tucked under, hands on her lap and a smile on her face, "you mean, like, something along the lines of grandma's 20-dollar Christmas card or pms-ing 'Pretty Woman' on a rampage to dilapidate Richard Gere's billions? Because..." she leaned closer to him. "I've got _nothing_ against filling metaphorical gaps in my heart with material stuff. As a matter of fact, it'd make me very happy to find out you also had the power to conjure an obscene amount of money. Not saying that saving lives and teleporting isn't awesome."

"Ah, the adoration of material things," he announced, smiling, as well. "In the end, you desire that which will not waste with the pass of time."

"If you're thinking about diamonds, then yes, I very much agree, and I like where this is going."

The sound coming out of Darcy's mouth couldn't have been considered human (it had been something between the moan of a dying seal and a T-rex choking on a wishbone, she thought) when she stared, wide-eyed, as Loki made a large diamond appear on his palm.

"That is," Darcy said, not once closing her mouth as she spoke, "that is definitely along the lines of 'Pretty Woman'."

"Who is this fair maiden you keep referring to? Is she a sort of goddess you humans worship?" He let the diamond drop onto Darcy's open hand. Oh, if he only knew Julia Roberts was anything but a maiden in that movie.

Seconds later, the gem disappeared, much to her dismay. "I should announce to agent Barton I am departing ahead of time. I think I would enjoy a recess before surrendering to my step-brother and his allies."

"You are gonna make pay for this, right?" Darcy said through her wide grin, shaking her head slightly.

"You would play your part," he said, "in time."

* * *

Love you all! R&R!


	6. Chapter 6

My crackiest chapter yet! This is a rollercoaster of darkness and crack I never want to stop writing. LOLWHUT.

Special thanks to Trillen17. I'm glad you think they feel IC. I'll try to keep it that way. Truly that is what every ficcer wants to hear.

Enjoy.

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**Chapter 6**

She didn't how it had come down to this, but she was glad either way. Don't look a horse gift in the mouth, or something along those lines. And she wasn't just talking about her current geographical position, but more to the coming to terms with her overall situation. She was safe.

She had begun to remember that fateful day, the day she had almost died. She barely remembered the pain, let alone put a name to it, but the fading part had slowly come back to her. Loki had – deliberately - avoided the topic altogether, like it wasn't his duty to help her remember. Perhaps, he feared to influence the process in an unconscious way.

She suspected he wasn't above planting false memories in her mind if that was what it took for her to trust him.

Yet she accepted it, and, what she couldn't, she faced with humor; that ability of hers had remained untouched. She had no other choice, though. He was his sole link to her past. It came with the surreal aspect of it that she should also accept he was a superior being, a god walking among men.

But something had changed, she could feel it. In the span of time between their encounter in the chapel and her waking up, she sensed that something had transpired which made him acknowledge her presence with greater care. No longer did he keep building that wall between them, or getting irrationally angry at her antics. This made her question their previous acquaintance, which he denied repeatedly.

It was one of the things that annoyed him more about her: having to constantly repeat himself, almost to a point where he did it out of habit. And he was not used to please anyone, but - taking into account they had spent but some hours together - he found himself quite comfortable with her being around; she presented no threat, mainly because she was weak, and, secondly, because she was literally a blank slate. He could make of her whatever he wanted.

He wasn't so bad when she thought about it; he was fairly receptive, and the only one who had stayed behind, look her in the eye, and tell her she was dying. No one had come looking for her, even after she was left in that wood for hours; no one had even come up to pick up her bones. It angered her to the point of wanting to cry. She meant nothing to anyone; whenever she felt glad for being alive, the reality would turn that happiness into ashes in her mouth. She was stray, and dead to the world.

Darcy leaned forward, resting her chin on her knees. It had been what felt like hours since she stepped inside the bathtub. This was her being very accepting of everything.

She looked up to see his reflection on the window, standing there in full armor. She held her breath, turning around so fast that water spilled outside the tub. There was no one. "Ha, ha! Very funny," she shouted to the closed door. "Where the hell…?" She looked around, searching for the towel she was sure she left on the floor by the tub. "Not so funny anymore! Where did you put it?" She looked around some more, noticing this time a small bundle. She picked it up between her index finger and thumb. The bastard had shrunk the damn towel; it was no larger than her hand. "If this is your way to tell me to get out, guess what?" she kneeled on the tub, her toes coming in contact with something slimy… it was a snake, inside the bathtub, crawling up her calf.

The impression was such, she couldn't quite muster a cry, instead, her lungs collapsed, and she only managed to wheeze as she jumped outside. She stopped half way to the door, aware that she was naked. She wouldn't admit it to his face, but his general arrogance made her very self-conscious.

She opened the door a few inches, and peeked outside. Well, it was definitely him standing by the window. She was taken aback by his attire. He was wearing a black three-piece suit. He looked nice, but – If possible – more unattainable.

He lifted his gaze, noticing the girl's head peeking outside. He walked over, and she shied away, hiding her face behind the door, showing the half from the nose up. Her cheeks were very flushed from the steam, her lips a bright red; her wet hair fell over that visible portion of her shoulder.

"I am done here," he said, readjusting his cuffs links. "I must leave."

"Okay?" she merely answered, raising her eyebrows at the guy's general nerve. "Thanks for the freaking snake, by the way. It was really nice of you."

"I won't go too far," he said, smirking.

That had been ironic by itself, if one considered proximity to the God of Lies and Mischief - agent of all chaos and evil - not a reason to fret, especially when – if she put a lot of thought into it - she couldn't completely shake off the feeling that he had something to do with her near-death experience, even when he had redeemed himself by getting rid of her acne scars.

He took a step forward. Darcy didn't flinch, but he found very fascinating how her knuckles paled as she gripped the door. He stared past her, through the slit, at the bathtub and the water on the floor, then down at her again, his gaze on her shoulder, that portion of naked flesh. "Are you always this…?"

"Messy?" She offered him a smile, though he could barely make it out, hiding as she was.

"Trusting," he finished, instead.

She shrugged, finding that looking at his chest was more bearable than looking him in the eye. He stared at her in a way that was disarming.

"Keep an eye out for that window," he ordered, walking backwards. The only thing weirder than that encounter had been him using the door to leave.

Darcy looked through the window, at the high-end district outside. It definitely had a Rodeo Drive vibe to it with the great amount of rich-looking people walking and riding in their sports cars, even when the speed limit was 15. God, she hated rich people. It seemed like they only ever used money as an excuse to be lame and generally boring.

So, an hour long bath, followed by dinner on bed, was all Darcy needed to feel like her old self, whether she remembered her or not, she just assumed old Darcy would have loved everything about that evening.

Wrapped in a fluffy robe, half her body buried under layers and layers of duvets apparently filled with whatever made the clouds seem so puffy, threatened to turn her into a very incoherent person. Once in a while, all she muttered was a low 'fucking a' in a very relaxed tone; that was, of course, in between bites of pizza and sips of Coke. She was an all-American girl at heart, after all.

A very offending knock on the door startled her from her deep repose. The thought of having to leave bed, and walk all the way to the door seemed like one the motives why a medieval king would have decided to decapitate someone.

She couldn't help groan when she was greeted by a trio of super perky, smiling, blonde women. This was starting to feel like Jehovah's witnesses meet 'Village of the Damned'.

"Yes?" Darcy asked, popping out her hip.

The women looked at each other, trying to decide what words to use, all the while, the perpetual smiles never leaving their faces.

"Ah," one of them started (either one, Darcy didn't care because they all looked the same), "your friend spoke to us." Her English was good enough, Darcy decided. She just sounded a little stiff at times, like she thought about what the word should sound like before saying it. "The party is starting in a few hours. You need to get ready."

That's when Darcy noticed, having the women made their way into the room, that they brought a rack of clothes, and supplies - not the edible kind, mind you -, cosmetic supplies. Darcy's palms started to get sweaty.

"He said you were upset because of your lack of clothes, so we needed to find you…" the woman made a pause, trying to remember his exact words, "the best ones."

Loki probably demanded something that sounded more like 'the finest Midgardian garments', but Darcy could barely blame the woman for not remembering. Any sane person would have a problem with Loki's ridiculous-sounding demands. He could put Madonna to shame.

During the whole make-over process - which Darcy noted it paled in comparison to those awesome and compelling montages to upbeat music -,the woman kept referring to him as Darcy's friend, except – and she didn't catch it at first - she said so with a slight hint of scorn.

Darcy laughed at the obvious conclusion the woman had come to: she was a prostitute, of course. Well, her mother would be proud. She was Pretty Woman, after all.

"Oh, but we are not friends," Darcy declared, doing a dismissive gesture with her hand. "I'm just using him for the sex. You know what they say about men with big feet."

And that had put an end to the small talk, and exhausted her share of Julia Roberts' references for the rest of the year.

Darcy exposed the big lie behind modern society: all those women walking down the red carpet, yes? none of them were naturally beautiful. Only thing needed was a team of experts.

"Holy shit," Darcy said, looking at herself in the mirror.

"Excuse me?" asked the woman in fake interest.

"Holy shit, lady, my boobs look awesome in this dress." She leaned over to check her smile.

Thankfully, all three women felt so ignored, they decided to eventually leave. They should have been used to it anyway. They worked for rich people, after all.

"Well, my mom would be all Jerry Springer level of freak-out over this." She started a little dance, humming a random tune. She quite enjoyed the way the corset - which was a pain to wear - made her torso move in a Shakira kind of way. How she was even able to remember enough to make that reference, it was beyond her. Oh, but the small pleasures of life! She even felt like strutting down an imaginary catwalk across the room.

While looking at her reflection, Darcy remembered having gotten a small tattoo of a heart on her shoulder blade; it was so small it could be easily confused for a birthmark. She gathered her long curls in a hand, and turned to look over her shoulder, but there was nothing. She felt strangely empty. Not only had her memories been erased, but also every trace in her body. She was truly a blank slate.

She let the curls bounce back in place, now looking more intently at her own reflection. It was her old face, just different. Getting her memories back would only make that fact more real, would make the fracture more noticeable. In an odd way, it had been as if Loki had molded a new her, but that was that: she was a copy, and the original was lost forever. She was everything he made of her, as if she was no longer her own person.

That was her face, she repeated to herself, reaching with a hand to touch the mirror. Those were her lips, covered in that shade of red lipstick she remembered to have always favored. And those were her eyes, the blue eyes she had gotten from her mother.

A thought invaded her mind, the vision of bony hands flaying her own skin, making her free once more.

She turned around quickly, hiding her face in her hands, her breath coming out with great effort. She blinked, trying to push the thought away, not knowing where it had come from. It had invaded her mind just like that. She feared the possibility that there was a dark part of her that was slowly coming back, along with the memories.

Then, she heard screaming, a lot of screaming. She ran to the window and moved away the curtains to look outside. A flow of people was leaving the theatre palace across the hotel.

* * *

Mayhem to come. R&R.


	7. Chapter 7

Thanks for all the reviews, again! I really hope I'm not confusing anyone with all the strange things that are happening to poor Lady D. I just thought it'd work better if I wrote this fic from Darcy's POV so as to keep you guys in suspense (DUN DUN DUUUN!). I hope it's more interesting this way than just explain everything right off the bat. And she is very, very confused right now. But answers are promised!

More crack this way, ladies.

* * *

**Chapter 7**

In the lobby, every employee and guest was cowered under the tables or hidden behind the columns. No one bothered to stop the girl that ran outside.

Darcy barely paid attention to the cold. She stood in the middle of the street, cars driving past her; among the neon light, she remained a rendition of beautiful contrast: the black velvet dress against her pale skin.

She stopped for a moment, the thread in her heart tugging at it once more. It was almost unbearable, and she tried to contain the pain by pressing a hand over her breast, nails clawing into the skin. The ache lessened, and she kept running, her breath coming out in puffs of white air. The corset made it almost impossible to properly inhale without feeling her ribcage about to give in.

She entered the very turmoil. People poured out of the grand theatre palace in a stampede. She was the only one approaching the building, walking slowly, with one hand against her chest, the other taking handfuls of the skirt in a bundle to move freely.

Screams and a blur of scared faces made her stop and spin around. She almost screamed as well when a loud crash came to her ears, a car flipping before her very eyes. She instinctively raised both arms, closing her eyes, hearing the metal scrape against the pavement.

That's when a familiar voice made itself be heard over the ruckus. "Kneel before me," demanded that voice.

People started to push against each other, tripping over one another as mad cattle. Darcy feared that the height of the average German person surpassed hers by a full foot; add heels to the equation and she was about to be smothered to death, chests and backs pressing against her.

"I said..." A loud hum followed that same voice. It reminded Darcy of the echo she had once felt against her very skin. "KNEEL!" he screamed at the top of his lungs and everyone fell into an uncertain silence, knees bending to let everyone fall and surrender as one, heads lowering in one continuous motion, resembling a fading wave.

Darcy was about to obey, as well, but then she saw, once everyone was on their knees, a tall figure in black donning the most extravagant helmet with horns she had ever seen. Liberace would have been proud.

She stood among the kneeling crowd, standing out like a sore thumb. Some woman next to her even tried to convince her to do the same by tugging at her dress and whispering something in German.

Loki recognized her at once. He saw her straight in the eye and this made the German woman stop altogether; she probably concluded Darcy was getting killed, and she didn't want any part of it.

The god opened his arms; the staff in one hand, longer than it usually was. He smiled at her with delight, scanning the entire length of her figure from the very bottom, the grin becoming wider as his eyes approached her face.

Darcy looked around. Everyone was averting their eyes as Loki started to close the gap between the two of them, strolling with great ease.

"Look around you," he said, smile on his face, "look how little effort it takes to reduce them, ease them into a more primitive and simple state."

No one voice protested, but fear hung heavy in the air, like a trap ready to fall on them. No one dared to make a noise louder than the heavy breaths that came after the exaltation. People quivered when the god's garments grazed them as he walked past.

"I am here to end the façade that is freedom," he announced with a hint of encouragement. "Make you free from its temptation. Freedom drives you into mad creatures, hungry for power, into savages that kill one another to gain recognition." He was about five feet away from her, the crowd parting like a river to let him through. "Without the boundaries of subjugation, this carnage will continue for eons. It is imperative that you are ruled."

At the end of that sentence, he had come to stand mere inches from Darcy, his eyes looking down, glued to her face, searching left and right, as in memorizing every shape and contour. His smile had diminished until it was no more. He breathed in her perfume, his eyelids dropping. His entire countenance turned harsh and stiff. He put a hand on her neck, warm and heavy, making her tremble, exposed as she was, in the night cold. The tips of his long fingers reached the nape of her neck, and his thumb rested under her jaw, pressing, making her raise her chin. He parted his lips to speak once more, but then they heard someone else already talking. Both their heads turned around.

An old German man had raised himself, standing among the crowd. He spoke, but Darcy couldn't understand, though Loki laughed like he had just heard a damn good joke.

"What is your meaning?" Loki asked, and Darcy's head couldn't wrap itself around the idea of these two very different beings having a bilingual conversation. "If I was a different man, you would accept this truth without struggling?" He dropped his hand from her neck, the fingers ghosting over the path of skin down to her shoulder and arm. At last, he came to stand in front of her, blocking her view.

The old man answered something in German, and Loki laughed again, but this time, he raised his staff towards him.

"You shall serve as an example," said the god. Darcy had clung to his raised arm, standing on her tip-toes to reach his elevated height, but Loki ignored her. "Insubordination won't be tolerated."

A blue beam shot from the gem in Loki's weapon, and the only thought that ran through Darcy's mind was: "Shit, this man is going to be vaporized." But it was her last thought, before a huge impact sent her flying away backwards, her feet actually leaving the ground for a couple of seconds. Thankfully, kneeling crowds were quite comfortable to land onto, more than solid concrete, anyway. And she found herself crowd-surfing for a moment, before she was hastily dropped in the ground, her back connecting hard against the floor, forcing the air out of her lungs in a loud gasp.

"My apologies, ma'am," said a man as a hand made its way through the pile of bodies that lay of top of her, and grasped her by the arm.

Darcy emerged from the crowd once more to stare back into the face of… Captain America?

She did a double take, then when she was sure she had definitely lost it, she looked to the side, searching for the god. Loki looked somewhat annoyed.

Darcy was beaming, though.

That was Captain freaking America in all his blue, red and white glory. Spandex fitted him really well, by the by. He was definitely flaunting what he got.

Darcy's mom would have creamed her panties at the sight of Captain America. Her grandpa used to collect his trading cards and comics. Some had even been signed by the man himself, Darcy remembered. They were basically like family heirlooms.

"The soldier from the past," Loki declared. "It is time you return into oblivion."

"The only one heading into oblivion is you," he pointed at Loki, the other hand in his waist, "pal," he finally added for good measure.

Wow. That was a lame comeback. Cringeworthy, Darcy thought.

People started to stand up, encouraged by – most surely - the absurdity of it all.

A large aircraft came hovering from above, deafening every sound. People started to scatter and run for their lives, covering their heads, the women grabbing handfuls of their dresses to stop them from hula hooping in the air. Darcy looked up, glaring due to the force of the wind, but she was able to spot a machine gun sticking from the under the craft.

Loki shot at it with the beam from his staff. When Darcy put it like that, it sounded astoundingly ridiculous, to be honest.

The aircraft dodged the attack, thankfully, and the warning was enough to make it retrieve higher into the sky where the sound coming from the engine wasn't about to burst their earplugs.

"Ma'am, it's better if you stand back," Captain America warmed her. Darcy almost failed to contain herself from giggling and bouncing.

"No, Cap, trust me, it'd better if I stay." In case Loki decided to annihilate his crazy, cosplaying ass, Darcy decided, she could at least intervene in his favor.

But Loki was the one who came close to her, wrapping his fingers around her upper arm, his eyes never leaving the Captain as he made her walk away from the square.

"Promise me you won't kill him," Darcy begged of him, putting one hand on his chest. "My mom would get super angry if she finds out I did nothing to stop him from getting killed."

"Killing him," he said, looking at the Captain still, "is not my main purpose, but I can't help it if I accidently _slay_ him in self-defense."

The Captain America looked very confused. Even with the mask on, Darcy could tell he was just speechless, out of clever comments, not that he was particularly gifted in that capacity. The picture of an evil god putting a human out of harm's way, it wasn't something the Cap would have expected; it wasn't what _they_ had told him to expect, apparently.

Darcy would have never guessed it, but as soon as they started to fight, she started to believe this Captain America was the real deal. She felt very, very excited. Her eyes were glued to them both as they had the coolest battle ever in the history of mankind and dinosaurs.

A Norse god and Captain America.

She could have felt a little bit of fear, truth, but mostly she was awed by the dance of roundhouse kicks, punches, backflips (most of these by the Cap) and magic.

Sadly, for the Captain, Loki took the hits with a stoic expression, barely showing his seething anger, let alone any sign of pain. He even threw the poor Captain around as if he was no more than a doll. She was sure Loki would be done in a second – done whooping poor Captain's ass, that's it -, and he would make them teleport out of there, except something happened that almost made her call it quits and dismiss this whole thing as a giant birthday prank _a la_ Michael Douglas' The Game.

Iron Man came soaring through the sky, launching himself kamikaze style into Loki's chest before shooting him – again - with beams, but this time, they came out of his robotic hands.

Case closed. Darcy had gone mad or the world was a whole lot cooler than she remembered. If so, she didn't want her lame memories back. There was enough cool stuff going on to create new ones.

In her excitement, she almost forgot Loki had been thrown into the air. His back had collided hard against a flight of stairs. Correction: concrete stairs. That had provoked him to sneer a little, at least. They had managed to anger him.

Both Captain America and Iron Man let their guards down after watching the girl sit by the villain's side and take his face in her hands.

"Uh, who is this?" inquired Iron Man. His voice had a metallic quality to it. The Captain shrugged. They both looked uncomfortable – even Iron Man, whose face was nothing but a mask made out of metal - while watching Loki take Darcy's wrists gently, and put her hands away. "Fury would take an interest in this. We should take her," he concluded.

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Thanks for taking the time to read this. R&R 3


	8. Chapter 8

Hola, hola! I'm so happy with the reviews that today you get double update. This chapter and another one. Enjoy!

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**Chapter 8**

Iron Man, without the mask, was actually a man. Darcy remembered little about the part of the millionaire under the suit, not because of the amnesia, but more because she was never able to bring herself to care enough to read his biography, even though it was a well-known best-seller. Tony Stark, the man behind the suit. He needed no reverence, though; he oozed confidence when standing in front of the imprisoned god. Darcy expected some trash-talking to ensue any minute now. It would be _the_ battle of egos.

"So where are they taking us?" she whispered as she inched her mouth close to Loki's ear, the ends of his hair touching her cheek.

At the sound of her voice, both Captain America and Tony Stark turned to stare at her once more. Strangely, they haven't actually looked at Loki once. They had gaped at her the entire time since they boarded the aircraft and had the unlikely duo strapped to some seats in the back.

"You shouldn't have come," he hissed back at her, tilting his head, but not completely turning around to look at her, proof that he was very angry. He left his arm fall, though, in the gap between their thighs, and let one finger press against her, worrying the velvet.

"Why? What's gonna happen?" Darcy asked Loki, and this time, he turned to look at her. Darcy flinched, caught up in their closeness. He breathed out, smirking, his gaze falling to rest upon her lips.

"Hey," Captain Bad-Timing said, "enough of this, you two.

"So… could you start by explaining who the hell are you?" Stark asked, "And, also… this?" he gestured to them, back and forth, with his index finger.

"She is under my command," Loki said through clenched teeth. He didn't even bother to give him a look. He just kept on staring straight ahead.

"No, I'm not." Darcy scowled in a dismissive gesture. "Stop talking crazy," she countered, but quickly regretted her words when she saw his eyes closing and his jaw setting, the veins on his temples bulging from under the skin. Oh, she had managed to get him angrier. They should have probably talked this, get their stories straight, before getting themselves captured by two superheroes. "Yeah, no." She tried to come off really_ blasé_ about the whole deal. "What I meant was that I-I'm not under _his_ command… expressively. I'm under the command of a purpose greater than life itself."

"Interesting," Stark noted.

"Yeah," Darcy agreed. "Good internships are really hard to come by these days." She stopped talking the moment Loki turned his whole body ninety degrees to look down at her; then he looked up, mouthing something quickly under his breath.

"What I mean is, what could you possibly want from her? Well, besides the obvious," Stark gestured to her figure with an open hand, palm facing up.

"To lure out Jane Foster and, consequently, to get to Thor through that meddling woman of his," Loki answered mechanically, through clenched teeth.

"See, I just don't… I don't buy that, amigo." Stark crossed his arms over his chest, and turned to look at the Captain. "What do you think?" The Captain just glared at him. "'Cause, here's the deal, I think that's bullshit, no offense, pal."

"Yeah, it might be a little too late for that," Darcy added, raising her eyebrows.

"See what I mean? She doesn't look _even_ remotely under your control," Stark continued. "I don't think anyone can control this chick, man. Just look at her," he walked to stand in front of Darcy.

"It's not our job to interrogate them," the Captain intervened. "The colonel will make that call."

"Soldiers, huh? They discard their brains the moment they put on the uniform." Stark smiled. "No, you see, I think _she_'s the one who's in control. Not that I blame you," he gave Loki a knowing look. "I mean, would you _just_ look at that?" He made a quite clear representation of her large breasts by putting his hands in front of him, fingers wide apart.

"I will rip out your tongue with my bare hands! That'd teach you to keep quiet!" Loki stood up so fast that the straps of his seat snapped.

Stark and the Captain took a step back, assuming on defensive postures.

"Stark. Last warning," said the red-haired woman sitting as copilot, and they turned to look at her. She sounded very collected, but it was a threat of someone you just didn't want to mess with, someone who didn't repeat themself.

"Just having a bit of fun, agent," Stark said, but he had been clearly shaken by the encounter. They all had.

Suddenly, lighting cracked through the sky, briefly washing the interior in a bluish light. Loki quickly turned his eyes to the ceiling, seconds before they heard and felt a thud. It had been strong enough to make the aircraft tilt and falter in the air, losing altitude. Darcy gripped the straps of her seat. Loki looked anxious, his gaze going right and left.

"It's just a storm, ma'am," the Captain assured Darcy when he saw the look of sheer terror in the girl's eyes.

"Storms don't do that to planes," she sounded very hysterical. "Something's landed on us."

Stark put on his mask and opened the hatch, revealing the night sky and the landscape of endless cities below, like thousands of fireflies against the most absolute blackness.

"What the hell are you doing?!" Captain America had to yell over the sound of the gushing wind. A new lighting came soaring through the sky, reflecting against the metal of Stark's armor. The Cap looked lost, and he remained still for a few seconds, before getting his shield. Always ready for action.

Darcy put both hands in the side of her head, trying to keep her hair from flying everywhere (very annoying, especially when it stung her in the eyes). The hem of her dress rode up to her thighs, and she barely had any time to salvage her modesty when a man landed on the open hatch, making the whole thing lean to the side. She flailed her arms a little, before regaining her balance again.

The man was kneeling; he raised his face, and Darcy's breath caught up in her throat, her mind going blank for a second.

He was magnificent. Every detail, from his armor to that red cape he wore, was so awe-inspiring, it terrified her a little. She didn't even know her mouth was open until she strived to breathe again.

He had to be that idiotic, moronic and useless fool Loki mentioned a few times in the past. Thor looked like the exact antithesis of Loki, physically speaking: he was fair and blonde; equally tall than his brother, but with muscles so big, it inherently gave him a threatening air; also, he stomped, instead of gracefully relocating himself from one place to another like the slender God of lies.

Loki had been looking at her face, reading her expression; it was no surprise that she should also feel astonishment at the sight of Thor, but that didn't please him. Having to compete with Thor for veneration, it still made him… a little angry.

Darcy would have introduced herself, hadn't been for her dress flying to her face and covering it. Also, because Thor took Loki by the neck and had them both jump from the hatch into the air. Gods had it all much easier, skydiving without having to resort to mortal parachutes and all that.

And, right behind them, Iron Man followed, all business, and then poor Cap, who showed a little bit of humanity by strapping on a parachute.

"Two Norse gods might be a bit of a challenge," Darcy shouted.

"Sorry, ma'am, I've got a job to do," he answered.

"She's right, Cap," the red-aired woman said, quickly turning to look at him.

"It's been a while since I've attended service, but I don't think God wore any horns," he said, punching the button to close the hatch before plunging into the air.

"He has a point," Darcy said, straightening out her dress with her hands. "So, there's like a hidden mini-bar around here? I might need a couple of drinks."

The woman glared at her, before turning back to the controls.

That was going to be one hell of a ride.

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R&R, my pets!


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Long story short, they had landed on a huge flying shuttle, very much like something out of Star Wars. It was as if they had literally taken a huge chunk out of a Nascar racetrack and glued turbines to the corners. It was insane and genius… insanely genius.

Now Darcy knew where their tax money had been going, thought she couldn't stay mad. That place was awesome. And she wasn't just throwing that word. It was huge. As they dragged her along, she heard people keep referring to it as "helicarrier", and it fit perfectly. It was all amazing… until she was tossed inside a dark cell by a pair of subordinates in uniform.

Inside the tiny cell room there was only a tiny bed, a toilet, a sink and one metal desk. Not that she was expecting the presidential suite. It was clean, at least.

She pressed her back against the metal door, letting herself slowly slide down until she was sitting on the floor. She took off her pumps, an expression of pain twisting her features. One at a time, gently and slowly, she took them off. Some blisters had formed on the sides of her feet, the rest was swollen. Once done, she threw the offending shoes across the room.

At that point, she felt a lot of things – she had a lot of sharing to do -, but it all boiled down to frustration and anger. She closed her eyes, pressing her palms against her eyelids painfully. She wanted to remember, she wanted to scream and a pair of scissors to cut herself out of that dress.

The skin of her torso itched due to the corset. How she had managed not to faint, it was beyond her. She reached behind, clawing frantically at the fabric, but unable to reach the zipper. So she grunted and banged her head against the metal, just once, but it had been enough to make her dizzy. She crawled to the toilet, cradling the back of her head with one hand and gripping the rim with the other.

There it was, on the metallic surface, her reflection, though blurred. It was barely a stain of white. The more she stared at it, the more her skin started to feel like a really tight membrane covering her own, the real one that was underneath. It suffocated her, made her breath quicken.

"We ran some scans," a female voice came from the hall outside the cell, and Darcy turned, her gaze was unfocused with apprehension.

"And?" a second voice was heard asking, a male one.

"She seems to have been the subject of some kind of skin graft procedure." The voices became clearer. "Whatever it is, it's all over her. There's no a mark on her body." And how they even managed to find that out, would always remain a mystery to Darcy.

"You mean to tell me he has been conducting experiments on her?"

"I don't know, sir." The woman sounded hesitant. "He seemed very… protective."

"Attached, you mean?" asked the man who was now looking at Darcy through the small vent in the cell door, as if she was an animal in the zoo.

"Miss Darcy Lewis," the man said once he and that same red-haired woman from the plane entered the cell. He was a tall black man, imposing. He had a black leather parch on his left eye, the straps tight against his bald head, "would you care to explain how did a science major student - not even real science, but that political science _bullshit -_ become friends with the world's public enemy No. 1?" He threw a file on the metal desk, and then leaned against it.

"What?" Darcy must have looked pretty pathetic, gripping the toilet cup.

The man and the agent stared at each other for a second, eyebrows raised. Yup, they had thought exactly that. "Why don't you start from the beginning, Miss Lewis?" inquired the man, gently this time.

"I have amnesia," Darcy plainly said.

"Well, that's convenient. Am I right, Agent Romanoff?" the man said. The addressed woman nodded in agreement.

"No, I mean," Darcy stood up, bracing herself against the wall. She managed to sit on the bed without the help of those two. Had Captain America been the one visiting, he would have carried her himself to bed. Learn from your icons, kids. "I remember," she continued, "that he saved me. It's all a blur, but I had an accident. I don't know what happened and he isn't exactly the talkative type. He saved me, anyway, and I woke up in a hospital in Norway."

"Norway, where you and Miss Foster were working together?" the man intervened.

"I-I don't remember any of that."

"Miss Foster was sent to Tromsø to hide from Loki after he kidnapped Dr. Erik Selvig," agent Romanoff said. "You went along with her."

"I don't know. I remember Erik, though. Not remember, _remember_. I mean, Loki took me to his secret underground lair after I woke up." That piqued their interest, for sure.

"Did he mention anyone by the name of Barton?" Romanoff asked, showing a little bit of emotion for the first time since Darcy had met her. She almost looked uneasy… almost.

"Yeah, he's fine. The asshole tried to break my arm after he caught me playing with Erik's cellphone." Darcy grunted, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Were they under Loki's spell?" asked the man.

"Yeah, that too," Darcy said. "Where's Loki, anyway?"

"So you are saying," the man said, "that Loki - the same Loki who threatened our planet with war - saved your life, for god knows what reason, and he kept you close all this time?"

"War?" Darcy scowled, looking down at her own feet peeking from under the gown. "I knew he was cooking something, but war? Are you sure?"

"Have you or have you not information on him that we can use, Miss Lewis?" The man was getting impatient. He wasn't buying the whole amnesia deal, she could tell. And she knew how hard it was to convince someone that you were telling the true; pushing it too far might make you look _too_ desperate.

"He saved me, and let me stay with him…" She stopped to think; perhaps, she had to rephrase that. It had come out as if he had made her a favor. "He saved my life, and, yes, he kept me close. He was mostly an asshole about it, though. He wanted me to help him find Jane, that's all. He didn't hurt me. Not on purpose, I think. He even gave me a huge diamond." With that, Darcy started to reach in the space between her breasts. Maybe it had been a good idea that Captain America wasn't there.

"I don't know whether that's the craziest bullshit I've _ever_ heard," said the man, "or you are just unlucky, Miss Lewis."

"Definitely, the latter, sir," Darcy offered, still digging in her cleavage without breaking eye contact.

"How do you break the mind-control?" Romanoff asked, looking a little appalled by her self-fondling.

"I don't know!" Darcy stopped what she was doing, to the agent's pleasure. She threw her hands in the air. "That's that! We never spoke about that or any other of his plans. He had a lot of scientists and soldiers working for him, though."

"So he kept you for almost three days without mentioning anything worthwhile?"

"Told you he was an asshole."

"What about the Tesseract?" the man asked. "Did he also fail to mention that?"

"I swear on my grandmother's grave, I don't know what that is." Darcy was practically whining by then.

"It says on the file your grandmother's still alive," Agent Romanoff cut in.

"Are you gonna torture me?" Darcy crossed her arms, raising her chin. God, she wished Loki was there to tell these people off.

"She seems to be telling the truth, sir," the agent added.

"And what is this?" the man asked, gesturing at her dress. "Why, in god's name, is she wearing a formal nightgown? Could you care to explain, Miss Lewis?"

"I don't know. Loki wanted me to blend in, I guess." She became very still at this, her mind working overload.

Loki wanted her to blend in so she could escape. She wasn't supposed to get involved. Something was definitely going to happen inside that helicarrier.

"Everything alright, Miss Lewis?" asked Romanoff, taking in her obvious confusion.

"Yeah, hmm… I just remembered something from my past." Darcy shook her head. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your names."

"I'm Colonel Nick Fury," the man answered. "As of this moment, you are now considered a prisoner of SHIELD."

Darcy's face was drained of color. She looked back and forth at their faces. They betrayed nothing. They did not care what happened to her. She was a traitor. She was a threat. "It's a pleasure, I guess."

"Can I ask you something else, Miss Lewis?" Fury said.

"Sure."

"You two are intimate?"

"_What_?" Darcy swore she even blushed a little… or a lot.

"Have you two had sex?" Nick rephrased the question, speaking loud and slowly.

"No," Darcy said with a slight scowl. "He's just… he isn't like that."

"So you could say he cares about you?"

Darcy couldn't say, really, so she kept quiet. Loki was very fickle. One minute he looked about to boil with rage and kill her, and the next he was all smiles – evil smirks, more like it - and meaningful looks.

"So my real question is," Fury continued, "do you think that if you spoke to him you could convince him to stop this goddamn world domination scheme? You are part of this world, after all, Miss Lewis."

"World domination?" she asked, looking genuinely surprised. "I thought you said 'war'. Look, sir, I don't know anything about anything… or, at least, I don't remember." She sighed, slouching. "I guess I can talk to him. I'll have to speak to him alone, though."

"Good, we'll appreciate your cooperation," Fury said, satisfied. He straightened, and headed for the door. "I've had about enough of these goddamn aliens dropping on our planet and wreaking shit all over the place," he announced as he was leaving. "And get her some damn jeans and a T-shirt. I ain't having my soldiers thinking she and Loki are part of some reality TV bachelorette bullshit," he complained to Romanoff once they had locked her cell door once more.

"And some food, how about that?" Darcy yelled through the vent.

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I was not happy with Sam's PG13 treatment, as you can see. The character could have used some more 'motherfuckers' here and there. This is a tribute to his flawless majesty. R&R!


	10. Chapter 10

Ah! Thanks for reading, favoring, following, reviewing. We are halfway to the end. Enjoy.

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**Chapter 10**

"He's not hurting her, Fury," Stark repeated for the umpteenth time. "Come on! Look, he even threatened to rip out my tongue after I made a remark about her breasts, isn't that right, wonder boy?" he kneaded Captain America in the shoulder, and the addressed man just rolled his eyes.

It turned out Cap's real name was Steve Rogers. That would be a turn-off for Darcy's mom to find out about. 'Steve Rogers' sounded like something an accountant would name their kid during a Prozac-induced haze.

"I can't wait for him to kill her, Stark," Fury said, smiling a little, "or take her hostage. I'd love to see you get it wrong for _once_."

Encouraging, Darcy thought, especially when they kept on discussing about her without regarding her obvious presence in the room. She went from being the messenger of peace to become the package.

"I take full responsibility," Stark said.

"I sure hope so," Fury turned to leave, "'cause if he as so much touches her hair, you are dealing with the family. And I'm getting them a damn good lawyer."

Darcy felt ready. They had fed her, and let her shower. The whole I-want-to-rip-off-my-flesh business was more bearable when she was wearing flats and a pair of jeans.

On their way to meet Loki, they bumped on Thor; his broad figure took up most of the hall space. "Darcy!" he warmly greeted her. He hugged her in a way that kept her arms firmly stuck to her sides, and lifted her in the air, cackling. He was large, in every aspect and direction. Even his voice sounded as if he had swallowed a loudspeaker. "Oh, I thought my brother had deceived me once more! You are alive and well. Jane will be glad to hear of this."

"Did he mention the bit about me not remembering you guys?" Darcy tried to sound cheerful, too, not wanting to turn Thor's smile into a frown; he gave her some puppy vibes. Also, she wanted him to stop squeezing the life out of her.

"He did." He let her down. "But worry not, Darcy Lewis." Then he smiled; the corner of his eyes crinkled. He showed emotions like a kid would do, without a veil to conceal them under. "Jane would find the way to aid you in your quest for the memories forgotten. Come now, I must escort you to my brother's prison."

"_Oookay_." Thor was going full War of Warcraft on her. Even Loki managed to sound a whole lot less ridiculous than that.

Outside the door, Thor raised one hand to signalize Stark and Rogers to wait in the hall. He and Darcy were to come alone.

"The Tesseract, Lewis," Stark reminded her before the sliding door shut on his face.

They entered some sort of dark warehouse, but it served more like some twisted exhibition gallery, seeing the way that, right in the middle, they had Loki trapped inside a circular glass pod, glaring lights focused on him. It couldn't have been made of simple glass, though, Darcy was sure.

They advanced through a metallic catwalk, approaching this cage. Loki didn't move; he remained perfectly still, standing in the very middle.

"I was wondering how long it would take before they resorted to _this,_" Loki pointed with his chin towards her direction.

"It was my idea," Darcy said, not sure if he had heard her through the thick glass.

"Did you tell her?" Loki's face turned, slowly, to the side, his gaze focusing on Thor. "No, I suppose you didn't." He smiled. "I suppose you didn't tell her how your recklessness was the reason she almost died that day."

Darcy's felt her skin going cold, the blood freezing in her veins. She knew he wasn't looking at her, nor talking to her, but the words were spoken to hurt her. He was angry at her for getting caught.

That had taken Thor by surprise, whose mouth opened a bit and remained as that for a couple of seconds. "I was just defending myself, brother." Thor took a step forward. Darcy was suddenly forgotten, despite how she was the main topic of conversation. Typical.

"_Yes_," Loki's smile grew wider, the word sounding like the hissing of a snake, "and she was collateral damage. Some things are hard to forget. Perhaps we should ask her whether she remembers how it felt to be struck by lightning just to fall off a cliff and break every bone in her body... or, maybe," his smirk widened, "she finds more unbearable the fact that you abandoned her to die, all alone, as you and that woman ran to safety." He greatly enjoyed getting under Thor's skin. "Is this what the humans are to expect from their protector? You can't even care for those closest to you."

"Stop," Darcy begged of Loki. It was more than she had wanted to hear. Darcy had her back turned to them both, gripping the rail, her knuckles white and her hands trembling with the effort. She drew in a shaky breath, struggling to swallow the knot she felt in her throat. She blinked, looking at the ceiling, getting rid of the tears.

Loki had noticed her. He grew serious, and stepped back to sit on the bench he had for sole furniture. He was done talking to his brother.

The sound of the pressurized door opening and Thor's hand on her arm made her turn around. She had composed herself by then, but it would take her a while to completely stop the slight tremors, and it would take her longer to smile again.

"It's okay," Darcy reassured Thor, and he had offered her a tiny smile, before the door was closed, and she was left alone with Loki.

She started to walk, but was startled by a crunching sound. She had forgotten the bag of cookies she had smuggled in her rear pocket. "You want a cookie?" she said, reaching for the bag of – probably, crumbled - cookies. "Or should I say 'biscuit'?"

Loki straightened, squinting, bracing himself for another one of the girl's ramblings.

"You sound… British, and I'm aware that there's not a British accent, per se, just, it sounds so… proper when you talk," she blurted out, her hand still raised, offering him the bag. "I keep thinking about it, but it just doesn't make sense! How-? You were speaking English when we were in Germany! This amnesia business has turned my brain into slushy." Now she craved some ice-cream.

"I do not speak your tongue. I am a god," he remembered her with a tone that clearly said he was tired of having this discussion, and so was she. "What I speak, it is a language as old as the universe itself. It does not erode and waste like yours. It is impervious and perpetual as Odin himself."

"You could have just said 'no'," Darcy said, shrugging, and wrinkling her nose. She still felt a little too vulnerable to emit a proper comeback.

She sat next to him like they did not long ago in that dark temple, their arms almost touching; she took in his familiar warmth and presence, it made her feel safe, protected by the great shadow his tall figure casted on hers. She had never had the chance to take into the detail of his attire, not under such a bright light anyway. It wasn't all black; it had a lot of emerald and gold.

"What do you find so fascinating, human?"

Darcy looked up to stare at his face, half of it covered - from her perspective - by the shoulder pad. She then realize that he _never_ blinked, and, when he did, he did it in a robotic fashion, like it was something you couldn't do while walking.

"Nothing." She sighed, taking pieces of crumbled cookies to slowly chew them. "They told me some things about you. I'm here to talk you out of it. I want to do this for me, mostly, and the rest of the mankind, I guess. I'm not doing this for those assholes. They are _not_ nice people. You know? They threw me in a cell, and they even took the diamond you gave me." She went to reach for another cookie, when Loki's hand shot out to grab her wrist and stop her.

"It is difficult enough to understand your nonsense. Do not eat while you are at it."

When hearing this, her nostrils flared, she raised one fine eyebrow, and she pursed her lips. She was beautiful. Loki couldn't help touching the side of her face with his knuckles, brushing away strands of damp hair out her face.

"What does it mean," he murmured, pulling her by the wrist to have her stand in the space between his legs, "when they use an innocent as bait to lure out a monster?" He put a hand on her lower back, fingers wide apart, and slowly caressed its way up her shoulder, fingers peeking out, clasping against the curve. With one quick pull, he made her sit on his leg, the fingers now curling against the side of her neck. "Why, it must say something about the sacrifice..." The hand was now on her face, fingers sprawled on her cheek as the thumb gently outlined the lower lip. "Or about the monster itself." He made the lip stick out, pressing against the suppleness, watching it redden. "Either way, that means they think you are expendable..." He leaned in, head tilting to the side, voice becoming a whisper against her skin, "or that I am weak."

"Break it up, you two," came Fury's voice through the speakers. "This is no conjugal visit."

Loki showed his clenched teeth in a sneer, and straightened; his hand came to rest on Darcy's back, instead.

"Isn't seriously fucked up that you are all I've got?" she complained, letting her weight tilt to the side until their shoulders came into contact.

"I am a god. Of course, you should feel-"

"I know that, Loki! I got it the first time." They fell silent for a minute. He stared at her, mouth slightly open. He was always trying to assess her whenever she was in deep thought. "So they say you are starting a war?" she finally asked.

"What else did they tell you?" he sounded more than pleased to have this conversation.

Darcy looked down, taking in the way her feet dangled in the air. She hadn't meant to stare at his crotch… and yet she did. "You are not reading my mind anymore, right?"

"You command your own thoughts to be gone, yet you do it so loudly, it feels like you pushing them against me." It felt strange – despite his best efforts to stop it – to feel a sort of broken happiness when he heard her laugh without restrain. So strange, in fact, it felt like anything but; it had been so long, the feeling was hollow and brittle, instead. Then she grew serious, and he inferred what she was about to say. He did what he did best whenever the girl pleaded with him: look to the side, ignore her completely.

"You know you gotta stop this," Darcy whispered, leaning her head closer to him. "You cannot just come here and crown yourself king. People will fight, there will be wars. And we… we are not gods, Loki. We don't have the means to stop this. People _will_ die."

"Exactly," he agreed, sounding gratified. She took the girl's chin, wanting to end what he had meant to start minutes ago, but she flinched away from his touch.

She had promised herself not to lose her composure, but, as she continued, her breath quickened, her hands came to grab him by the collar. "I don't remember, but they told me-No! They showed me how you once tried to destroy the town I lived in." She felt the hand resting on her back close into a fist. He was getting angrier, but she would have none of that. _She_ was the victim here, whether he felt like he was right. His being a god didn't give him the right to oppress an entire race. "Listen to me! You stop this…"

"Or what?" he growled, standing up. Darcy lost her balance and fell soundly against the metal floor. He didn't help her get up, though. He grunted, and walked to the limits of the cage, punching the glass, making the whole structure shake with a resounding bang. "I am here to put an end to this chaos. You are too primitive to handle freedom." He was pacing around the cage, clenching and unclenching his fingers. "Of course, humans will die, they die every day. It is your fate. Do you mourn all of them? Do you lament the death of every person that has ever died? You don't know them! You claim to feel sorrow for people whose faces you have never even seen. It is a shallow grief, indeed, one that never goes away."

Darcy hadn't attempted to get up. She was half sitting, half lying on the floor, the weight propped on one elbow. She watched Loki unravel. The glass walls felt constrictive, closing in on her. The space was too small to contain a raging god.

"You should try to calm down," said a muffled voice from outside. Agent Romanoff was standing by the control panel, her fingers hovering over the gun strapped around her thigh.

This made Loki stop in his tracks completely. He smirked. "You seem to have a problem with my display of anger, agent Romanoff. I wonder, does it originate in the fact that you despise me for using agent Barton or..." He walked, approaching her. "Do you fear it might be contagious? You wouldn't wish the beast to awaken."

Natasha wasn't one to play games or make empty threats. She pushed a button on the control panel, and Darcy watched as strong winds gushed from below, producing a howl as they hit the glass.

"You wouldn't dare," Loki said without raising his voice. The smirk on his face never diminished.

Darcy got up, dashing to the edge of the cage, pressing her hands on the glass, and staring at the white abysm below them. The aircraft flew over a bank of clouds, leaving them behind to reveal the distinctive surface of the ocean shining, thousands of feet below, and then it was soon covered by more whiteness.

Darcy felt her breath trap in her throat, her lungs lacking the force to push it out. She walked backwards, her hand blindly searching for Loki. Her back made contact with the line of his arm, and she quickly grasped his hand, her gaze never leaving the border of the cage.

"You seem so confident." Romanoff did have to considerably raise her voice, but she never lost her serenity. Under the mask of calmness, Darcy was sure she was enjoying this. "Are you certain you can save her from dying this time? That was quite a fall she took. I saw the cliff. It was very high. But this, I promise you," the tips of her fingers were caressing the red button, "this will turn her into dust. I don't think you have enough magic in you to glue her back together."

Loki took a step back, Darcy following suit.

Natasha closed the gate and everything went back to normal. "Now," she continued, "where are you keeping Barton?"

At the end of that question, a huge impact made the entire helicarrier shake, the glass undulating with the echo of the shock. The entire aircraft tilted to the side like a sinking ship, and Darcy had to hug Loki's arm - like a buoy in tempestuous waters - to avoid from falling over.

"You need wait no longer, agent," Loki said. He was back to his usual smug self. "He has come pay you a visit."

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Review away, my pets! REVIEW AWAY! MWAHAHAHAHA~


	11. Chapter 11

YOU GUYS! I feel so blessed for the reviews and ppl being so interested in this. It's everything you can ask for when writing a story of any kind that people should feel so compelled by it that they put a lot of thought into it, trying to figure out what's gonna happen #FEELS

I got a really nice review by a guess, **CS**. I wish you could have left an e-mail address or something. I try to answer every review, but I can't answer guest reviews. I'd love to hear more of your opinions. Maybe you can be my beta reader… hopefully you are reading this lol! If not, I'm making a fool of myself. You pointed out I made some mistakes/typos *blushes* ^/^ hope they were not too distracting, you guys. I did write to two betas, but they never answered back. Anyway, write if you are interested.

So anyway! Enjoy!

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**Chapter 11**

It was like that odd void one feels when inside an elevator that descends too fast. Darcy struggled to keep it under control, not let it escalate into sickness. The helicarrier was losing altitude, and fast.

She clawed at the bolts around the border of the door. She punched the glass until her skin became numb. Not like this, she didn't want to die crushed to death trapped inside a glass cage. She wanted to come home and hug her mother; even the thought of losing her memory once more was more appealing at the moment. She could deal with the possibility… death, it was final.

"It is of no use," Loki said. Once Darcy took a glimpse of his face, of that smug expression, she grunted, and went to bang on the glass again.

She stopped, eventually; her heart pounded so hard, she could feel her head throb with the same rhythm. Her fists unclenched against the glass, and she pressed her open palms to it as she collapsed to her knees. "I don't want to die here. Please, don't let me die," she whispered to no one, but Loki answered anyway.

"You live on borrowed time, mortal. Your life was to end that day. Be grateful that, this time, what awaits you is a quick and painless death."

"Why did you save me then?!" Darcy shouted. She willed herself to calm down, inhaling a shaky breath. It became eerily quiet every time they stopped talking or, in her case, thrashing and raging. She wanted to stop this silence, it was oppressing and, along with the fall, it was like a deadly trap, one that had no timer, but would trigger without notice.

A growl travelled through the walls. It was clear enough to make her skin crawl. She confused the discomfort for a mere chill, as it originated in her tail bone - her rear being in contact with the harsh metal -, and it travelled upwards, caressing her spine, making her lift her shoulders until they touched her ears as she suppressed a violent tremor. It felt as if a needle made out of ice was being buried into her flesh, piercing her from end to end. Then it was hot, hot like she was in flames. She raised her arms, gazing at the skin. She sniffed, see if she could smell the burning flesh.

Loki stood up when he saw her clawing at the skin of her own arms, brushing them with force as if trying to get rid of unseen dirt. Her mind, to his touch, seemed blank, but also unleashed, like if something primitive had taken over, a simple desire to be made free.

It would pass, he knew. Next time it would last longer, and it would be worse. And, each time, it would stir her insides until she would lose her mind completely.

The door to the hall was opened, and a single soldier entered. Loki nodded to him, and the man obeyed, opening the door to the cage. "Take her," ordered the god.

The soldier slid one hand under Darcy's shoulder, picking her up. She was rigid, but pliant.

Loki stepped outside, and waited for the right moment. The soldier stood by his side, waiting for orders.

Darcy felt her eyelids close, heavy with exhaustion; she blinked, feeling a sting as if the insides were covered in sandpaper. She gazed at Loki's back, at his hands clasped together across his lower back. She tilted her head, and almost gave a yelp of surprise at seeing another Loki standing by the cage door. "What-?"

"_Shhh_," said Loki, tilting his head, and raising his index finger to his lips. He was smiling again.

It wouldn't take longer for a shout to be heard coming from the hall. Thor came sprinting inside the cage at the sight of his brother standing by the open door. He had meant to stop him, as the hero he was, but it was a trick. Thor ran through the illusion of the second Loki, making it vanish in a curtain of golden dust. The soldier closed the door again, and Thor was trapped inside, looking bewildered and so confused.

"And this is the future king of the gods," Loki mocked him. "How many more times are you to be fooled by the same trick?"

Darcy saw, but didn't move, as Loki approached the control panel. There was no hesitation in his actions as he opened the gate below the cage. Once more, winds rushed upwards, tossing her hair, bringing a certain kind of air that was light and cold, hard to breathe in.

"What do you think?" Loki asked, his gaze never leaving Thor. "Should we ask her? What say you?" he addressed Darcy. "Are you in the mood for revenge? This fall won't hurt him as bad as it would hurt you, but, I believe, it would have to suffice for now."

Thor hit the glass with his hammer, making it crackle. The fissure was a sign of hope for Darcy, who let out a nervous laugh. This didn't please the God of Lies, no; in fact, he couldn't be angrier at her for not finding pleasure in punishing the one responsible for her wounds. He hadn't been sure before, but now, he felt a mix of rage and prepotency building inside him; he was making them both pay; Thor for being a fool, and her for being so blind.

"I believe the lady has spoken," Loki said, "and I agree. This fall won't kill you, but it will slow you down. Always a pleasure not to see your face… even if for a little while longer." Loki pushed the red button, and the cage was released from its hinges with a screech, falling, and sucking the air out with it. It happened so quickly, she barely blinked to see it gone.

Darcy felt the change of pressure wanting to pull her, swallow her into the hole. She ran to the edge, leaning her head to catch a brief glimpse of the pod flipping in the air, before the own course of the boat left it behind, out of her sight.

Then the gate was closed, and the room was covered in darkness. Everything fell silent, again.

"Are you crazy?" Darcy asked him, violently gesturing to the space where the cage was minutes ago. "You just fucking dropped your brother from the sky!"

"I see it will take longer than I expected for you to grasp the concept of us being gods," Loki said, glaring at her. "Your philanthropy is becoming quite a nuisance to deal with." He spoke again with that sneer, his lips pursing and his nose wrinkling with every word he uttered. "In case it escaped you, it was _him_ who almost ended your life," he sounded angrier as he continued, "and _I_ was the one who saved you."

"Oh, my _God_!" Darcy couldn't believe what she was hearing. She had to either laugh or cry, so she chose the former. "It was an accident! Have you ever heard of _those_?"

"Well, then," he was almost growling, "I see that erases all wrong. After I am done conquering this world, I shall claim it all an accident."

Darcy was on verge of losing her sanity. That had to be the explanation why, in response to the exchange, she started to howl with laughter. She had tears in her eyes, and had a hand around her belly. This confused Loki, whose tension quickly vanished, being replaced with a slight scowl.

A thud interrupted them. Darcy turned around to see the previous soldier knocked out cold on the floor.

"Miss Lewis," said the man responsible for the attack. He stood by the fainted soldier. He looked very bland and average, but his voice was too casual for someone who was about to stand up to a god. "Why don't you step away from the edge? I see you don't recognize me. I'm agent Coulson. We already met back in New Mexico."

The reason why Darcy didn't move was because agent Coulson was holding a huge weapon. He was directing the barrel end to Loki, nonetheless, but it looked like it held enough firepower to blow up the entire room.

"We will see that Loki is captured for what he did to you," said Coulson, slowly walking to her, the gun always pointed at Loki. "And you will have immunity. You'll return to your old life. I'll even buy you a new iPod, how does that sound?"

"He lies," Loki said, looking at her. "They plan to toss you in a cell, but, first… they will strip you of your freedom and dignity, they will study you like an animal." Coulson gestured with the gun to make him shut up. "They can get quite imaginative when it comes to torture."

"I thought you said freedom was too much for us humans to handle," Darcy snapped at him, yet she inched away from the approaching agent.

"Yes," Loki admitted, looking down, his shoulder slumping a little. She felt an urge to comfort him. "But I guarantee you safety." He raised his hand for her to take, palm up, long fingers slightly bent, beckoning her to accept. "No harm shall come to you, as long as you stay by my side."

Darcy's mouth hung open for the longest minute, not entirely sure what he meant by that last statement.

"Okay. Time's up, kids," Coulson interrupted the long silence. He was already standing next to Darcy. "Miss Lewis will come with me. We are walking out of here. Unharmed."

Something bad was going to happen, Darcy felt it in the air, felt the static that accompanied his magic. She noticed the change in Loki's countenance: his face twisting in anger, the fingers of his raised hand curling into a fist. She barely had time to mouth a "no", when Loki teleported in front of Coulson, and stabbed him in the chest with the staff. Darcy saw the blade coming out of the other side, covered in blood.

"What did you do?" she asked him. She was serene with the shock; she was very aware that Coulson had been deadly injured, yet she could not quite grasp the fact that Loki had stabbed someone in her presence.

He ever so slowly detracted the blade out Coulson's body, inch by painful inch, but managed to show enough mercy to grab him by the shirt to stop him from falling into the hole. "Your last words shall be a message to your director," he angrily whispered to Coulson, while holding him by the shirt, raising him several inches off the ground. "I will be prepared for his heroes. Tell them to come, for my army will obliterate them." With that, he let Coulson fall to the floor with a loud thud.

The agent could barely breathe, but he was still alive. Darcy kept the hope that he would survive. It was a clean cut. She quickly got to her knees, and put pressure to the wound, feeling the warmth of the blood spread through her fingers. With the commotion of all past events still present in her mind, she let herself cry properly for the first time. It started as a chocked sob, but it quickly escalated into a loud wailing, her shoulders trembling as she breathed in, her nose running and her eyes red with the salt.

Somehow, crying would calm her anxiety, would turn the pain into a dull ache, bearable enough to swallow it. It was a therapy of some sorts.

"We must go," said Loki, who had been quiet the whole time, watching her cry.

"I'm not going anywhere," Darcy protested between hiccups. She cleaned her nose with the side of her wrist, and smeared some blood on her cheek.

"You obstinate girl," Loki snarled, clutching her upper arm to make her stand. He put a hand on the back of her head, cradling it with care, having her look at him. "He shall live," he whispered.

Darcy blinked away the tears. Numbness overcame her again; it was the dullness after crying, she imagined. She felt too sedated, his limbs and brain falling into a lethargic wakefulness. She let herself be led outside, to the very surface. Loki guided her, one hand on her waist, the other holding up the staff covered in blood.

By the time the plane took off, rising from the helicarrier, Darcy had managed to fight off the remainders of Loki's spell. The bittersweet taste of deception hung in the back of her throat, impossible to swallow.

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Making it canon... but I did try my best not to hurt Coulson D': My heart is crying...

R&R, lasses and lads... R&R.


	12. Chapter 12

My friends, I fell into the Odinsleep this weekend. I fear it was due to all that wine and food I had. I didn't get a lot of feedback from the last chapter; hopefully you did enjoy it, at least :) It was a turning point for me to write it as Loki did something downright evil in front of Darcy for the first time. Sad and angsty, I know. But if anything displeases you, you can bring your urgent reviews to me… your King- erm, I mean, the writer.

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**Chapter 12**

Loki knew better than to interpret the girl's silence as a sign of submission. As soon as the hatch was opened, she jumped from the hovering plane, not measuring the distance, and landed hard on her hands and knees.

Darcy picked herself up, and slowly spun around, looking at the entire landscape of Manhattan, the view reaching as far as the coast and beyond. She was suddenly caught up in the grandiose panorama. She froze at the sight of the god standing by the edge of the bridge, the skyline of the Empire State Building rising behind him in a daunting allegory of his would-be victory.

She had to stop him.

The bridge they had dropped on wasn't exactly narrow, just that it had no regular rails, but glass panels instead. She never knew she suffered from vertigo, and she probably didn't, but the thought of crossing a narrow bridge - one that looked like it was floating midair - hundreds of feet above the streets, with nothing but clear glass stopping her from falling to a horrible death… it was very unsettling.

She advanced, looking down at her own feet, one step at a time, distancing herself as much as possible from the borders. She let out a sigh of relief when the bridge gave way to a glass door that led inside the penthouse.

Talk about minimalist. In the huge room, there was only a bar, some tables, and a reduced array of furniture that served as a resting area.

She sprinted towards the bar, searching in every drawer for a phone. She cursed loudly, banging the cabinet doors as she closed them.

"It is too late now," said Loki, entering the penthouse. He had taken his sweet time to catch up to her. "They are coming."

Darcy knew she wasn't thinking straight when she grabbed one of the bottles on display – it probably cost more than what she could make in an entire year -, and swung it at the god. The stupid bottle merely bounced against his chest, and fell to the carpeted floor, not shattering in that dramatic, but cathartic fashion that she needed.

Darcy stared at the whiskey flooding out of the tilted bottle, dampening the carpet. Her rage started to subside as it emptied. She suddenly felt so tired, too drawn and small to make a difference.

Thankfully, Loki didn't try to mock her. He was awfully serious and contemplative of the girl's actions. "You must remain here. Until it has all ended, you must not quit this room."

"_Why_?" Darcy's cheeks were flushed with the agitation. She descended the few steps to the resting area, losing the advantage of the height.

Now, standing lower than him, she was aware of his overall existence. He was a god, it suddenly soaked in; she always knew that, but now she was beginning to realize it. He was an unstoppable force; he would lose _nothing_ by going into war, but giving the humans a chance to defense themselves. It would be as humans did themselves whenever moving to new lands: pests needed to get rid of. Would it give him pleasure to see them failing as they would, she wondered, or would he stop the madness to give them a second chance to embrace him as their ruler.

"They will not attempt to destroy the base on which their means of transportation lies," he continued. Darcy had other plans, though, and she wasn't sticking around. The wiser choice was to run.

"Who are they?" Darcy was slowly walking towards him. She stopped at a safe distance, and circled around him, never breaking eye contact, walking backwards, heading for the elevator doors.

"Have you learnt nothing by now?"

Turning around was all Darcy had to do. Loki swung his arms around her, taking her wrists in an iron grip, trapping her hands against her chest. She resisted for a while, knowing she might as well be trying to escape from being handcuffed by using sheer force. The metal on Loki's garment dug into the skin of her back.

She became motionless when the gust of a whisper caressed her ear, blowing her hair, raising goose bumps on the skin of her neck. "You might put up a struggle, but I feel your skin burning whenever I touch you. Is this not what you yearn for? You ache for me to take you." At the end of this last sentence, his lips were brushing her earlobe.

"You are always saying how we humans are inferior," Darcy said, closing her eyes, recoiling from the touch, sensing it would intensify that disarming warmth that was born in her belly and spread outwards. "I don't think you want to rule us. You just want to get rid of us."

"Well, there might be hope for you just _yet_," he said in mock appreciation.

"Why are you doing this?" she struggled for a while, trying to fight off her own sensations, divert the heat of his body from enveloping her. "You can rule anywhere you want. Why us?"

"Means to an end, but I rather not say anything. I wouldn't wish to spoil the fun."

"What's the point of ruling a world after you had wiped out its entire population? It's crazy! You _will_ lose."

"I am counting on it, but I might be putting too much trust in your heroes." He bounded both her wrists with one hand to have the other free to brush his fingertips from her cheek to her neck, setting the curtain of her hair behind her ear. The stain of blood on her skin had dried already. "To make your world fall, it is but a small price to pay." His voice got lower as he let his parted lips brush down against the curve of her neck. He let out a breathy laugh, forcing another veil of warmth to wash over her skin.

She struggled some more, and he knew it was in the service of fighting against it, at first. Later, she would trash and toss in order to scratch that itch, put out the fire by rubbing against him.

It pleased him to sense her arousal. It throbbed with a languid rhythm, coating her skin with liquid fire, exposing her, making her vulnerable. But she enjoyed it, enjoyed the exposure to it, as it revealed every nerve, making them tender to the touch.

Darcy couldn't account for his fits of laughter, not that she cared. She doubled in two, and Loki bent over with her together in one motion. She wanted to put pressure on that particular spot, like one would do with a burnt, cover it, diminish the pain by pushing on it. It was all; she just wanted to make it stop.

"You need only ask," offered him.

By that point, Darcy didn't know if what she was feeling was his or her own doing. She was glad she wasn't at liberty to use her hands; she didn't know what she would have done had it been otherwise. She needed the release, though. It hurt to contain it, to try to ignore it, and to fight it was useless. It made her shake with the thought of his hands making her come while she was bounded, helpless to stop him. It was a want that had her rubbing her thighs together and mouthing silent pleas to muster her own willpower.

He released one of her wrists, and her hand shot out to grasp at him, gripping blindly to pull him close. He showed no surprise at her clumsiness, nor did he resist being yanked forward by her small hands. She was looking up at the ceiling, mouth open to form inaudible words.

He had never lain with a mortal, had never felt the wild abandon with which their skins burned, had never tasted the salt in their sweat, or witnessed the exquisite collapse after the downpour of the release.

But he could measure, in their closeness, her frailty and softness. Like cold, hard metal pressing against thin glass, she would suffer. He'd bruise her. He would mark her, and hurt her in the process of taking. There was no tenderness conceivable to spare her of any of this, not any that could come from him. He would have to assert control in the chaos in her, or break her to reach his own pinnacle.

"Touch me," she begged in a pathetic whisper, throwing her head back, letting it rest against his shoulder.

He put a hand on her lower belly, the index and middle finger sliding inside her jeans, advancing excruciatingly slow.

The anticipation of him finding that spot made her wet. She curved her back, pressing her rear against his form, both as a protest and as a way to steady herself, for his fingers moved all too slow for her liking. Darcy scowled and moaned in protest, biting down on her lip to stop herself from begging again. The tips barely grazed the beginning of the slit, and she felt going stiff, suppressing another shudder, letting out a small cry.

Then he stopped altogether, snatching his hand away. He released the girl, who thudded loudly.

Darcy doubled in two, grunting in frustration, and pressed her forehead against the floor, letting the touch of the linoleum chill her feverish skin. She put a hand on her chest, and the lace of her bra felt coarse against the sensitive skin of her breast, and it hurt, everything hurt. Touching herself would make it worse, and so she spread her arms apart, palms against the ground to prop herself up and sit. She looked over her shoulder at him.

Loki raised his hand, looking at it with attention. It was trembling slightly. He walked away. When he reached the living room, he put one palm flat under the coffee table and made the piece of furniture flip in the air, throwing it against the windows, cracking the glass with the impact. He snarled, pacing like a caged animal.

There was something feral in his shouts, and Darcy found herself getting more aroused. She closed her eyes, unable to stop the fog from turning into colors and forms behind her eyes. She had never envisioned anything so clearly, and she wished he could read her mind. She wished he could see the scenario that was playing in her head and sense what release would bring her to have him enter her, taste her. Otherwise it was futile because she was unable to put into words what she wanted. The want made her mute, and had her cupping that space between her thighs with one hand, knees together, squeezing hard.

Loki saw her, saw that hand, and he looked as if he had witnessed the most offending thing ever. He walked out, taking longer strides than necessary. He pushed the door with a little too much force and it also cracked.

"So you _did_ see," Darcy whispered, standing up on shaky legs.

She called the elevator, furiously punching the button, giving her arousal time enough to dissipate with every breath she managed to take, to leave her body and empty her.

Minutes later, she realized the elevator was out of order. The power was out.

The sound of metal hitting against metal startled her. She turned around to see Iron Man walking towards the house. She was mesmerized by the way that, with each step, his armor was being disassembled, piece by piece, by robotic hands coming out of the floor. This guy got some serious _swag_, she had to admit.

By the time he stepped inside the penthouse, he was all Tony Stark, carelessly gallivanting to his bar. He stopped abruptly, surveying the mess around, staring at the emptied bottle of scotch on the carpet.

"Uh, what happened?" Stark asked.

"I am afraid the lady was intending to hurt Loki by throwing the bottle at him, sir," answered a voice that seemed to come from everywhere at once.

Darcy instantly froze. Had someone been watching them? The blood rushed to her face so quickly, she feared it would result in nosebleed.

"First fight?" Tony guessed, pouring himself a drink. "It'll get better. Ah, talking of the devil!" he exclaimed, raising his glass as Loki entered the penthouse again, staff in hand. "I was just telling Miss Lewis how you two are welcome to crash here any time. Though, you might've taken the 'crash' part a little too seriously. Cheers?" He gulped down the drink.

She decided there was no better time than the present. She walked over to stand in front of the men, their positions forming a triangle. "Uh, so you think I could borrow your phone?"

"Of course," Stark said with fake enthusiasm and a not so obvious undertone of irritation. "JARVIS?"

"Sir," said the voice from before, "I have already programmed the intercom by the elevator."

"Right, so…" Stark poured himself another glass, and descended the stairs, "you go do that," he motioned to Darcy, "so your lover boy and I can have a little one-on-one conversation."

Darcy tried to keep an eye on them at all times as she stand by the intercom, too far away to catch any part of their conversation. Up to that moment, they were just standing face to face.

"I will need a phone number," said JARVIS through the intercom speaker. She was very much relieved the AI hadn't decided to broadcast the conversation with his omnipotent voice for everyone to hear.

"Right," Darcy said. She blinked, realizing that – of course – she couldn't remember her mother's phone number. "How about an address? You have like a record? A phone book?"

"I will look into it," answered JARVIS after a long pause.

"Uh, Lewis, Diana Lewis, 135 Willow Street, apartment 108," she said, closing her eyes, not thinking about it, and letting the words escape her mouth.

There was a long pause after that. Darcy kept looking over her shoulder. Stark and Loki were still talking. The line connected and the second dial tone started to sound, each beep extending for ages.

"Yes?" came the voice of her mother through the speaker. Darcy let out an extremely loud cackle, momentarily interrupting the two men who turned to look at her.

"Mom?" Darcy asked, unable to stop the grin on her face from widening. "Mom, _gosh_! You don't know how happy I am to finally hear your voice."

"Darcy?" Mrs. Lewis sounded a little irritated. "What is it? Did your father call again? If this is about that soiree his new girlfriend is planning, tell him he can go fu-"

"No, mom!" Darcy cut her off. "Jesus! Listen, there's no time. You need to pack your bags and get out of the city. Take granny with you and get the hell out of there. Stay with dad for a week… I don't know for how long, actually. I'll call you back."

"Honey, what's wrong? Did you get another visitor from space?"

"_Mom_! That's confidential stuff," Darcy muttered between clenched teeth. "I'll call you back. I love you."

"Oh, I love you, too, sweetie."

Darcy decided to take a quick peek over her shoulder. Loki was pointing his staff at Stark, the tip of the blade descending upon the man's chest. "Shit! Mom, I gotta go. Love you." She pushed all the buttons at once, and sprinted towards the two men.

"This usually works," said Loki, whose expression changed into one of almost innocent confusion.

"Well, performance issues," answered Stark, shrugging.

Darcy felt that, with all that had transpired earlier, the only way to describe that comeback was "too _damn_ soon". "_Buuuuuuuurn_" would have also been acceptable.

Loki grabbed the man by the neck, forcing him to choke on his subsequent words. Stark's feet dangled in the air as the god raised him in the air and tossed him to the side. Something changed in Loki's demeanor; he didn't look anywhere near in control as he approached the fallen man, preying on him like an animal about to feast on a wounded victim.

Darcy felt that same uneasiness, the one she felt before Loki stabbed Coulson.

Loki grabbed the man by the neck again, his fingers digging into the jaw, not letting him catch a breath. They were standing too close to the windows, Darcy noted. She knew better than to plead; this would make him angrier. She walked closer to the god, and did the only thing that she knew would stop him: she lifted her shirt, giving the god two very large reasons to rethink what he was about to do.

That had done the trick. Instead of throwing Mr. Stark through the window, Loki threw him across the room, growling as he did so.

Stark fell on his bar, destroying every glass shelf and bottle of expensive liquor. "Ugh, no, no, no," he complained between grunts of pain, "bad plan, _ugh_, very bad plan. I think… I think I broke something."

Darcy went to stand behind counter, squatting in front of Stark. "I'm _so_ sorry. I thought he was just gonna let you go!"

"Huh, you thought? That makes it alright then." Stark started to laugh, until the effort stroke a nerve of pain in his tailbone. "Feel this," he said, his voice strained with the ache; he rolled over to give her a view of her backside. "Do you feel like it's sticking out?"

Loki was already gazing upon them. He looked calm, despite the tension in his jaw. Throwing the human had proven to be liberating enough, for now.

"Why don't you help me stand up?" Stark said, putting an arm around Darcy's shoulders. Between grunting and panting, he managed to stand up, before leaning on the counter for a couple of seconds. "Okay. I'm good," he declared, pressing a hand against his lower back. "I should probably suit up, avoid world domination, and all that." He started limping to the platform, uttering an _ouch_ and _ow_ along the way. "JARVIS, deploy?"

What followed was _Transformers_ level of cool. Stark actually leapt from the platform he had landed before, and a sort of red coffer shot from the wall next to the elevator, following him on his way down. Base jumping acquired a whole new meaning as Darcy saw Iron Man appear, soaring through the sky. So… it had been a bad idea to try helping him, after all.

Loki rolled his eyes, instead. He looked like he didn't have time for this. Conquering the world suddenly seemed like an entirely too tiresome task.

Darcy just hoped the warning she had given her mom had given her enough time to split. There was no other option, because the next minute the sky darkened, as if an eclipse was about to occur. She walked to the windows, staring at the morning sky. A hole, a gap had opened. It was a very inconvenient time to get scared, but it was horror what took over her. Suddenly, the weight of the impending war and the fear of the uncertain made her feel hollow, small and insignificant, but a mere spot in the vast universe. She had to squint to make out the silhouettes of things… beings pouring out from the hole; hundreds of them.

To her right, Loki was walking towards the edge of the platform which Stark had jumped off minutes ago. A gilded shimmer, like light bouncing off a reflective surface, covered him, making that helmet appear along with a beautiful emerald cape that flew behind him as he raised his arms. He looked absolutely satisfied with himself.

Those… things, they weren't waiting for instructions. Darcy could see them coming up on people, shooting at them, blowing the concrete off the buildings and shattering the windows into millions pieces. Everything they shot at, it turned into dust.

"What would it take to make you stop?" Darcy asked him. The anger she felt – which she didn't know whether to direct towards herself for feeling anything for this bastard – made her tremble, forcing hot tears to swell up in her eyes. She wasn't expecting him to turn around and go get her, dragging her by her upper arm to the very edge. She insulted him, yelled at him, and called him names.

"Look around you," he said, grasping her jaw, shaking her, trying to make her understand. Darcy clutched his arm, staring down at the streets; the wind hit against her face, drying her tears. "You murder each other; you step on each other, and what for, if not for power?" He was talking directly into her ear, mouth brushing against the skin. "It is not love what unites you. _Oh_, _no_. It takes a tragedy to make you stand together, to fight as one, and _that_ is what I intend to give you. I intend to strike you with so much force, you will never forget this day. Mankind will never forget its place. You _all_ stand beneath me."

"I thought you didn't want to conquer this planet," Darcy protested, unable to turn her head and look at him, for the god hadn't relinquished his grip.

"I might have grown fond of it," he countered. At this, he took her by the shoulders and made her turn around, her back to the abysm. He kissed her, but not in a way he knew she would enjoy. He pressed his lips against her with force, and Darcy pursed her own, closing her eyes, rejecting the touch. This didn't escape Loki, who leaned back, away from her, perplexed at her evident display of revulsion. He took her by the wrist, and pushed her slightly, making her lean over the edge. This made her scream, and, thus, open her mouth. He rejoiced at the new opportunity, and kissed her again, this time nibbling the tender flesh of her lips, pressing skin between skin with an intention to hurt, grazing with his teeth, wanting to leave a mark. At last, he pulled back, sucking her bottom lip one last time, pulling at it, amused at the brief thread of saliva that formed as they separated.

"You let her go, brother!" protested Thor who stood on the bridge, looking up at them, blandishing his hammer in the air. "Release her. Your quarrel is with me."

Darcy was more than sure Thor had been staring at them long before saying anything. She didn't know whether to laugh or blush.

"You mistake this matter entirely, _Odinson_," Loki said. It was pure hate that came out of his mouth when he pronounced his brother's last name. As he held Thor's gaze, Loki walked towards the penthouse, dragging the girl back, placing her out of harm's way.

A new fight was to take place, and Darcy did not want to stick around this time. As soon as Loki released her arm, she ran inside. She was planning to make another call. This time, to a person whom she considered a total stranger: Jane Foster.

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Read&Review~


	13. Chapter 13

Hola, hola! First, thanks for the reviews complimenting my writing. I feel so giddy when reading them. I blushed and smiled. I'm very self-conscious about my writing in English as it is not my first language.

Also, super flattered when you say the characters are IC… YOU GUUUUYS! STAWP IT!

Anyway, do enjoy.

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**Chapter 13**

"I ignore Miss Forster's current location, Miss Lewis," JARVIS explained. It sounded exasperated for being a soulless machine.

"You gotta do something!" Darcy grunted, punching the wall to the side of the intercom. The sound of glass chattering startled her. She turned around to see Loki picking himself up; he was dangerously close to the edge of the bridge. "How do we stop this?"

"It's unbreachable, I'm afraid," JARVIS answered.

"Bullshit!" she snapped, "anything can be stopped. We just have to ask someone who knows… "Erik!" She clapped, smiling. "Contact Erik Selvig."

"I'm afraid there is no need for that, Miss Lewis."

She said through clenched teeth: "Look, I'm getting _really_ tired of your bullshit."

"Dr. Selvig is currently on the roof, Miss Lewis. He was knocked unconscious by Mister Stark."

Darcy swore, on everything that she held dear, that she would get back at that stupid machine one day. "When were you planning on telling me this?"

"I am not a creature with free will, Miss Lewis. I do not plan."

"Just tell me how to get to the roof," she said, mustering the little patience she had left.

She gave one quick look at the brothers fighting, but Loki decided to jump from the bridge that very second. Her heart skipped a beat; she forgot everything about Erik, and ran outside. "Wha-?" She looked down at the city, at those things flying in the distance like bees. Every building in sight was either being consumed by fire or being blown up; people ran on the streets, fearing for their lives, lives that were accustomed to peace.

"It would be better if you remain inside," Thor said with effort. He yanked at something buried in his side. He extracted a small dagger. He watched it carefully before throwing it; it landed at her feet, leaving a fine trail of blood in its wake. "Do not worry. Loki is stronger than you think, Darcy. I fear that nothing can stop him now."

"You can stop him." She tried to encourage him, but her voice broke mid-sentence. The truth was that she lacked the determination to ask Thor to end Loki's life, by any means. She might be pleading for it, but deep inside she contemplated the possibility that, once this war was over, she would have to choose a side. She could almost imagine Loki extending out his arms, and smirking as he welcomed her to the dark side.

"He never stops until it is too late," Thor said. He commended the girl for still believing in his brother's humanity, despite the fact that it had been long squashed and buried under his desire for vengeance and retribution. He loved Loki, but he knew he could only fight him, not convince him to stop just by using words. He had tried that before, and it almost ended in one entire race being wiped out and the destruction of the Bifröst. Any argument, Loki could destroy with that silver tongue of his, not that he would hear anything that Thor ever had to say.

"Then you must help me close it," Darcy said. She looked up at the portal, the window to that dark space, and those things still coming through it. "I wish Jane was here. She would know what to do." A vision of brown eyes and a lovely smile came to her. It was so sad that she should remember Jane's face now that they were all about to die. She missed her terribly. "I'm so glad she was able to see you one last time."

Thor looked lost at words. He was a perfect picture of strength and bravery, yet he didn't know what to answer. He felt like a failure to Darcy and Jane. It had been his decision that they should flee that day, and leave the girl behind. Now, they hold no claim to her safety, for Loki had saved her. Darcy's loyalty lay with his brother.

But he did save the girl, knowing she was but the victim of a quarrel among siblings. Perhaps the dying spark of humanity still lingered inside Loki. But fighting was what Thor was good at, and that was what he would do to put an end to the catastrophe, so he also jumped from the bridge, set on stopping his brother.

Darcy also had a plan, and it included praying.

She ran to the roof, stopping at the top of the stairs. Paralyzed, she stared at the device that stood in the middle of the roof, the one that gave life to this nightmare. It looked like a reactor; it wasn't even that big, yet the cube that powered it shone with a blue light, like that gem on Loki's staff. Just standing next to it made her skin hum and vibrate, similar to the effect it gave to stand close to a transmission tower.

She walked, circling around it. She actually averted her eyes, fearing the light would blind her.

Erik was passed out on the floor, face down. Darcy flipped him over, brushing one hand over his relaxed features, wanting to get rid of the dirt and pebbles encrusted on his skin. He looked even worse than that last time she saw him, more wasted; his lips were dry and cracked, and his eyelids were rimmed with redness.

Darcy took Erik's hand, and kneeled, grimacing as the gravel that covered the ground dug into her skin. The very moment she closed her eyes and tried to form Loki's image among the blurry darkness of her own mind, the thread in her heart seemed to wrap itself around it, choking the life out of her. She gasped, breathing in, putting a hand on the ground as to stop herself from falling face first.

"Just come, you godly piece of shit!" she managed to shout.

The hold was broken, and she could breathe once more. Her arms and legs trembled under her own weight as she crawled to the edge, eyes looking down. His black boots came into her sight of vision, framed by her strands of hair. She didn't look up, though. She had other plans.

Darcy scattered around him, and pushed with her hands to roll on her side, feeling the floor coming to an end. She felt weightless for the second before he managed to grab her by the wrist.

"You seem overly fond of dying," he calmly said. He easily lifted her in the air, having her dangle from her wrist at arm's length.

"I figured I'd speed things up." Darcy squirmed, reaching with her free hand, wanting to grab him, but his arm was longer than any of her limbs. She kicked her feet, trying to reach the edge with the tips and step back onto the roof. When everything failed, she looked up, clawing at the hand clutching her wrist.

"I do not have time for this!" he roared, but his arm didn't move an inch.

"Why? You are too busy killing worthless mortals?" Darcy asked, out of breath. The juncture in her shoulder was starting to ache; after he let her go, she wouldn't be able to use that arm right away, she knew. "It must be _so_ hard for you."

"The carnage itself is wearing. I leave that to my army," he informed her with disdain.

"You are a fucking coward, you knew that?" she yelled at him. If she was really going to die, she was giving him a damn good reason.

"Am I?" There was that forced joy in his face, the one that tell her she was getting to him. "Perhaps it is you who is too daring." He lightened the grip, and she felt herself slip a little between his fingers. At the sound of her screams, he smirked.

It had been enough. The girl's eyes were bulging and her mouth was twisted in a grimace; he had never seen her so scared. He had her approach the ground, letting her slowly descend on her feet. She let out a sigh and a chuckle when she felt the solid ground beneath her; she slipped outside her flats, and buried her toes in the white pebbles.

"What am I to do with you?" he asked her, sounding quite defeated. He put a hand on the back her head, pushing her towards himself.

Darcy closed her eyes, the sound of destruction fading around her, but a mere buzz next to the hollow echo of Loki's breathing against her ear. There was a strange familiarity in the way they stood: her cheek against his chest, and his hand on her head almost big enough for the tips of his fingers to brush her ear. It summoned the outline of a feeble memory that tried to grip at the borders of the well, and climb back out, dragging out a sort of foulness that had being hidden in her. They had stood like that before; she could feel it, yet she could not place the moment, force the frame into the movie of her life. A feeling of dread came, making her feel hollowed and small.

"Don't," he said, sensing that one memory on the brink of her consciousness. It took but a small push for her to forget about it again.

"You have done nothing but lie to me," she whispered, blinking once, having her expression being one of total calm. She always felt so numb after Loki exerted his magic on her, like the side effect of it was to not care enough to complain.

"And you think you can trick me, the God of Lies, into pouring out the truth?" He didn't sound arrogant like he did in the past whenever he addressed himself. He wasn't daring her, no; he said it like one who accepted a terrible fate.

"No." She wrinkled her nose, smiling a little. "I thought I could make you an offer you couldn't refuse."

He did not return the smile. Whether she would come to completely fulfill her role in his schemes or not, she was not for the taking, he repeated himself. Even though the feelings she had for him - which he had expected to emerge; he had planned on it -, she didn't try to hide anymore, and she pushed, and pushed them to him, wanting to make him see her willingness to sacrifice herself. She was a smart one; she did figure out that he could pick on those emotions, and he would respond better to them than to her characteristic ramble.

But she also was a human, and she would respond to acts of apparent selflessness with loyalty and kindness, too inclined to love and care for broken things, too bent on trusting. The truth was that, even then, amidst this destruction by his own hand, she would not hate him if he confessed to having manipulated her into harboring any kind of feelings towards him. It had been a plan that he executed perfectly, but he found that he could not rejoice himself in revealing it.

Loki settled for leaving her unharmed, untouched, standing upon a pile of bones.

"You weren't trying to protect me back in Germany, right?" Now she tried to inspire guilt in him. "You planned on me getting me getting caught. Why? What am I supposed to do?"

"It is too late," he merely declared, choosing not to answer her.

"Yes! And Thor said you only stopped when it was too late." She stepped back, looking up at him. "I've got news for you, pal: we are well beyond the point of 'too late' and heading into 'no return'. You need to stop this."

He did smile at that: a benevolent gesture. He raised his hand again, letting it drift above her head. He was reconsidering it. "No," he said, finally, letting his arm fall to his side, and turning around.

She ran to stand in front of him. "I know you don't want to do this. I can see it in your eyes, Loki."

It exasperated him how she said his name, pleading, wanting, needing, seducing. "Do you?" He had shut her out again; they had that in common: sarcasm was their best defense.

"You are in trouble, I know. Every time you…" She tilted her head until her ear touched her shoulder, as if the mere attempt to remember would hurt. "When you read my mind just now, I could feel it."

"How can you be so sure I didn't make you believe that? You hold no defense against me, mortal. I can do with you whatever I want."

"And what would that gain you, huh?" She let out a dry and short laugh when he remained quiet. "Tell me, because as far I'm concerned, mister, I have no control over anything. What I think or say from now on won't ever matter because, you guessed it, I squatted with an evil god in his secret lair."

He snarled, but still had nothing to say. He came closer to the reactor, the blue light reflecting on his face.

"You need to get this done quickly," she whispered, walking to stand behind him. "Why? How bad did you screw up that you have to do _this_? Can't you just fight them? It can't be that bad."

He turned to stare at her. It was beyond ridiculous that she would dare compare the kind of retaliation that awaited him to anything humanly possible, anything her mind could conceive. The magnitude of the problems alone was far beyond any point of comparison. What awaited him, shall he failed, was something blacker than death itself: an endless torment where pain and blood was alpha and omega. He would die and born a thousand times in a hell shaped only to mimic his every fear.

"I can help you," she sounded resolute. "I will help you. I'll do anything. I can come with you. Loki, I just-"

It wasn't until he took her by the jaw, with too much force, that she came to rest silent. "You are a fool," he said, leaning in so close that everything he could see where her blue eyes widening. He knew he wasn't doing her any favor by showing her kindness. She needed to flee, and live a life free of the horrors that surrounded him by nature. He was giving her that chance, and she was too blind to see it. "I cannot escape him. Your race cannot escape _this_. And if I could… taking you with me? What for? Tell me, do you really want to die? Do you ache for your final hour?"

"No!" She wriggled out of his grasp, and he let her. "You saved me. I'll always be grateful for that."

"Funny how you show this gratitude, by throwing yourself off buildings."

"Why are you so bent on being an asshole? Why can't you just tell me what's going on?"

He had been close to answer her, but he refrained, confused. It gave him pause to actually admit he was arguing with the girl, and it wasn't the first time. He would constantly let himself get wrapped in these menial quarrels with her. It was hard to assert her weak condition when she could get under his skin with so much ease. She was just tireless. Now he was aware: she was incapable of grasping the gravity of the situation- _any_ situation. It was something more than naivety that fueled her impulses: it was pure foolishness, and that would be the cause of her own demise.

Darcy actually found herself stomping when Loki disappeared into thin air. A low grunt distracted her from the tirade of insults she threw to the wind; Erik was finally waking up.

She went to kneel beside him. "It's me, Erik, Darcy." There was still hope.

"How did you get here?" he said, squinting as he faced the glaring bright sky.

"I took a cab," she said, smiling. She helped him get up. "Look, I know your head must be killing you, and you need a goddamn bath, man." This made him scowl, and raise an arm as he smelled himself. She was right, yes. "But we have to stop this. You are the super genius here. Tell me what to do."

"There is a way," he said, and Darcy raised both fists in the air, struggling to keep the excitement to a minimum until they had put a stop to all this. "Loki's scepter," he continued, "we need the scepter to close the portal. I built in a safety to cut the power source."

"What? Are you kidding me?" She was borderline hysterical. "That's the shittiest plan I have ever heard… Ever! Couldn't you just build an abort button underneath? The only way to stop it is with the weapon a god carries with him at all times? Really, Erik? I just can't…" She threw her hands in the air, walking to the edge. Something in the distance caught her attention. She couldn't believe her luck.

The sonofabitch had actually left his magic stick behind. It was right there, on the bridge where he fought Thor minutes ago. There it was, gold and shiny. It was very strange that Loki should just leave it behind.

Darcy ran down to get it. She stopped for a second, now considering the bridge had no rails or barriers, glass or otherwise. One step at a time, she paced through the scattered shards of glass, cursing her own stupidity for taking out her shoes. She retrieved it, noticing it was incredibly heavy; she had sort of expected it to be hollow, but it weighed as if it was made of pure gold.

She had reached the top of the stairs to the roof when someone came to stand in front of her. Darcy almost lost her balance and fell backwards, but they grabbed her by the shirt, stopping her fall short.

"Agent Romanoff," Darcy addressed the red-haired woman, pushing away the hand that still clutched the front of her shirt.

Romanoff didn't even acknowledge her presence; she was staring at the golden staff, unblinking.

"Hand it over," the agent asked with too much authority for Darcy's comfort.

"No." Darcy scowled, pushing her to the side to hand the scepter to Erik.

"Give it to me. Now." The look in her eye was stern this time. This made Darcy angry.

"What is your problem? I'm on your side. The city is going up in flames and you stand there, holier-than-thou, giving me orders? I am the one who's been trying to talk Loki into stopping, you fucking-"

Darcy never managed to insult her properly because Agent Romanoff tased her, knocking her unconscious.

Erik gaped at the agent, then back at Darcy, who had fell heavily on the floor like a sack of potatoes, the scepter lying by her feet.

Romanoff shrugged. "I'm not very good at girl talk."

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**Long A/N you ain't gonna read, but you might feel compelled because I address Loki's feels and the very scent of this fic: **For the record, after much discussion with lovely **Starlight Sanctuary**, I feel like I need to make this clear: **I do NOT think Loki's main goal was to conquer the Earth**. I think he got involved with some real shady assholes and he made some promises and shit and Earth served as a way to attract Thor's attention along with Asgard. I mean, he's made so stupid mistakes in the movies, so blunderingly stupid I feel Joss just put them there as a hint, like "yeah, you guys, he's not after this shit." **Loki's supposed to be the most intelligent being ever**, no buts. First, forgetting about his scepter, okay… no. He obviously had the power to summon the hell out of it, like he did after getting out of the cage. See he doesn't have it when he's threatening Thor, then he does a second later when he uses it to stab Coulson. Then, just walking around Germany in front of cameras and waiting for his brother and Iron Man to stop fighting without leaving, lol, okay, so he wanted to get caught because he knew about the Avengers and **he needed them to join forces with Thor and win so he could go back to Asgard with the Tesseract**. ZING! He's a genius!

ANYWAY! Read and Review~ Tell me whatcha think of my theory, baby *purr*


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

She becomes rigid as consciousness settles in. She becomes aware of her limbs sprawled on the floor, her back against the cold ground, and the weight of her heavy breasts pushing down on her. She wants to turn, and she tries, but stops, not being able to contain a cry. Pain travels through her, from head to toe, in a hot and paralyzing flash. It is as if she has been lying, unmoving, for years. Her bones complain at the exertion, already used to the upmost stillness.

She sits up, squinting, and the blackness around her diffuses into blurry shadows and contours as her vision becomes accustomed to it.

Remember. She needs to remember.

She has been imprisoned again.

There's scratching in her ear, like the legs of a spider crawling inside her. It's too loud and close. She shakes her head, feeling unclean and disgusted. It's inside her, free to roam.

To run, it ends up being worse. Her head collides hard against a wall, and she falls, and falls, but the room flips and she's stumbling backwards on her feet, regaining her balance. She stretches her arms, wanting to feel something solid, but the wall is already gone, and she reaches, like a blind person, grabbing air.

Something tells her to pray, but she doesn't know how. She looks down, trying to reposition her body, but her elbows and knees bend awkwardly, so she stops.

This has made _it_ angry. It wishes to punish her. The walls move, sliding without making a sound, pressing against her from every angle. She pushes back with her hands, wanting to stop them, but it's too late. She gives one final cry as she feels her insides emanating through every hole in columns of red festering mass, but the pain doesn't feel real because she isn't there.

She wasn't there.

Darcy awoke, gasping for air and reality, pale as a ghost. Her body shook with the vague memory of the dream. She was clutching at the sheets, sitting straight. There was silence, but it was the kind that soothed, the kind that followed war.

Someone was holding her, gathering her form, whispering sweet nothings into her ear. "It's okay," they said.

Was it?

Darcy tugged at the arms cradling her, and she turned to see a familiar face.

"You are awake. Finally," Jane said. Her hands rested on Darcy's shoulders. She was smiling at her, her brown eyes glimmering with that spark Darcy always envied.

"Jane?" Darcy asked, and her own voice sounded so foreign, hoarse and tired.

"Yes!" Her friend beamed. "Do you remember?"

"Some," she answered, grimacing. Her neck felt stiff, but she didn't move it; it felt as if would break in two at the slightest attempt.

"Thirsty?" Jane offered, not waiting for an answer when she was already tilting the pitcher to pour her a glass.

Darcy vaguely noted her surroundings. She wasn't in a hospital or in any other place that she ever remembered - but that didn't narrow it down, to be honest. She gripped the glass with both hands, bringing the rim to her mouth, feeling the moisture caress her dry lips. She looked around, at the tall ceiling, the black furniture, and the double bed she was lying on.

"Tony's letting us stay for now. Isn't that fantastic?" Jane pressed her lips in a tight line almost immediately. It had been banal of her to get excited over such things after the city had almost been destroyed. So there was another reason. "He's lending us one of his labs. We should be done in a couple of days."

Darcy choked. She had tried to swallow more than she could. She grimaced when Jane cooed her, and sat on the bed to help her drink some more. Jane looked nervous, though; she was fishing for the right words.

"I don't know what to say," Jane admitted. She retrieved the glass from Darcy's reluctant grip. "I'm so sorry, Darcy. I thought you had died, you understand that, right?" She spoke quickly, letting it all out. And if Darcy couldn't understand, she could at least feel sympathy, for the way Jane looked at her was so disarmingly pleading. "I wanted to make sure, but Thor…" She gestured, making the water spill from the glass. "We had to leave. Loki was after us and he-"

"Where is he?" Darcy pushed the sheets with her feet, delighting as she escaped the hot confinement, the sweat quickly cooling off. She brought her knees to her chest to swing her feet off bed, but Jane pushed her down with a palm on her shoulder, not managing to move her one single inch.

"You are safe now. He can't hurt you anymore."

"I want to see him," Darcy insisted, slapping the hand away from her shoulder.

Jane was caught off guard by Darcy's vehemence. She had expected to find the same girl: snarky, old Darcy, and she was, except for this change, this quasi-anger that shocked her and this strange gap between them as if they were no more than strangers. But Jane wanted her to run, not to seek out the god, the same one who initiated the fight that almost killed her. Saving Darcy would have been unnecessary in the first place hadn't Loki come for Thor.

Loki had found pleasure in Thor's astonishment, at his attempt to hide Jane behind his grand form. He had come to make him suffer somehow, but Jane could notice the smirk wanting to curl the corners of his mouth, and she realized that, deep down, it was just a cruel game. Loki was pushing, wanted to get to his precious brother by hurting the woman.

And Darcy? She had left the room, hands on her ears as she shouted she didn't want to hear any kind of stupid terms of endearment or sounds of smooching. But she had come back, she had heard the ruckus, and she was then standing behind Loki, a hand on the door frame as she asked, insecure and hesitant, what was happening.

Jane had wanted to yell and jump, grab Loki's attention as to stop him from turning around, as to avoid him hurting her. But Thor, _oh, Thor_, was he reckless. The God of Thunder had taken the opportunity, had seen but a chance when his brother turned his back to them and stared at the girl. So close had they been, so close had been Loki to touch the girl, raise his hand to grab her precious neck, that, when Thor summoned the thunder and lightning to strike his brother, Loki had been sent flying away, forward and forward, through the door, out of the room, in the balcony, over the railing, and down into the abysm.

Jane had ran out, expecting to see Darcy cowered, safe, smiling, making jokes, breathing, snorting, living. And she found nothing, and she felt nothing as she stared down the vertical silhouette of the ragged cliff, and her eyes searched frantically for anything, but she found nothing but whiteness and mist and the echo of a scream that threatened to rip her heart apart.

"You can't see him," Jane said. She smiled at Darcy, the same Darcy that was alive and well thanks to Loki, the same one who was but a stranger now. "He's under SHIELD's custody." Jane breathed in, preparing herself for the turmoil. "He's returning back to Asgard tomorrow, Darcy. I'm sorry."

"Is that so?" Darcy jumped out of bed, and walked outside.

She strode down the corridor outside her room until a person came into view, having crossed a corner. It was a man in her late thirties, mid-forties, perhaps.

At the sight of the two women, he stopped in his tracks, looking down and rubbing his hands a little in a nervous gesture. He took three long strides to stand before them, smiling with his lips pressed together. He raised one hand, hesitantly, to say hello. When he got no answer, he let his hand fall to his pants to clutch at the wool.

"Uh, I'm Doctor Bruce Banner." Darcy did react at this, and shook his hand. "You were the one who helped Agent Romanoff close the portal. What should I say? Good work?" He laughed, but stopped when Darcy gave no hints of being amused.

"_Yeah_," she drawled. "Remind me not to help her ever again."

"I heard what happened to you. It must have been hard to go through all that."

"It wasn't like I had a choice."

"But you have one now," he said. This had surprised her, and he looked down, clearing his throat, in an apology for his boldness. "Uh, I mean, you're choosing to see him now."

Darcy scowled, but, otherwise, she had nothing to say, she hadn't thought this through.

"You see the good in him. It's understandable. He saved your life, and that's great!" His voices rose at the end, showing a burst of confidence, but he quickly returned to his shy demeanor. "But you shouldn't keep a monster company for too long." He had sounded sad at that.

Darcy still said nothing as she walked past the gentle doctor. Banner had changed his focus of attention to Jane, shaking her hand enthusiastically and beaming, quickly entering into discussion of more comfortable topics.

Darcy didn't knock, so every pair of eyes turned to look at her make her way inside.

"I want to talk to him. Alone." Her request had sounded like anything but. She was telling this people to stand up, and leave right now.

Stark and Rogers raised his eyebrows, averting their eyes. They fell in no capacity to fight a woman's wrath. So it was Romanoff who stood from the desk she was sitting on to look at Darcy, her eyes narrowing.

"And why would we let you do that?" the agent asked.

Darcy's gaze quickly fell to the monitors behind the agent. There were dozens of small screens, showing the god from every angle. He was sitting while Thor was standing, talking him into the path of salvation, probably.

"I need to speak to him," Darcy said, lowly, still retaining her composure.

"I don't think so," Romanoff answered, crossing her arms. They heard Tony and Cap's breath hitching.

"You crazy bitch," Darcy calmly let out, "thank you _so_ _much_ for tasing me. It'll make a great story to tell my kids one day."

"You were interfering."

"And I'll have my fist interfere with your teeth if you don't back the fuck off." Darcy's voice had gradually risen until she was almost shouting.

"Ladies," Stark interrupted, standing between them, hands in the air. "As much as I'd like to watch the two of you get at it, there's no reason to be upset. We won. We should be celebrating. We are celebrating, as a matter of fact, and, here's the deal, I'm bringing the party. A real party this time, agent Romanoff."

So… they had won. Then Loki had won, somehow.

"I'm sorry, Lewis, but you can't see him," Stark said, resting a hand on her shoulder. "We already have the Tesseract, but there's no saying what he can pull now that he's been defeated. But, I tell you what, you can write him a letter."

"You're a bunch of fools," Darcy declared, slapping his hand away.

"And you are redundant," Romanoff said.

Darcy had raised her fist in the air, and this had made both Stark and Rogers take Romanoff each one by an arm. Darcy was aware that they thought the agent was stronger - and they were right -, so she was the only one needing protection. Thankfully, they hadn't expected it to be all a show. Darcy took advantage of this distraction to slip past them and inside the vault, sliding in the small space between the thick door and the frame as she shot one last glance at Romanoff's deliciously angry face.

Stepping inside was like falling into another world. The atmosphere grew heavy, gravity increased ten times fold. She could taste the decay in her tongue; it was sour and sweet, like rotten fruit. She spun slowly, and the gods looked at her.

Loki didn't want her there, and he would keep pushing her out. In the wake of her stubbornness, he had to stop talking to Thor and make a conscious effort to ward off the girl.

Darcy noted there were some bruises on his face, and their bluish color gave his eyes a watery quality, a clear blue that presented a sort of vulnerable light. He looked deranged, but so weary and uncaring; he was glad it was all over.

He grew angry at her conclusion, and made another effort to remind her of his ever powerful presence.

She blinked, feeling sluggish and clumsy. A buzz invaded her ears, one that grew to a sharp ring. She stumbled forward, but Thor stepped forward to catch her by her upper arm.

"You stop this right now, brother," Thor said, barely acknowledging Darcy's weight as he made her stand once more.

"Do you comprehend now, the hold I have on her?" Loki put both hands on his knees to stand, lean and elegant, making no sound as he straightened to full height. His fingers sought to grab her by the shoulder to bring her close, and Thor, in his confusion, saw no reason to stop him. "She is bound to me," he declared. He put a hand on her lower back, pressing her against himself, and, without no upper support, Darcy's torso and head fell backwards, dangling at a painful angle.

"Loki…" Thor started, wanting to fight sense into his brother. He was rarely angry, but always saddened at Loki's offenses. "The humans are not our playthings."

Darcy was the only one who saw - with her head hanging the way it was - the upside-down shadow in the opposite wall stretch, twist and shift. It was Loki's shadow wanting to escape its prison and envelope everything. The buzz faded, and her eardrums, tired and punished, caught every sound under the cover of a muffled and monotone din, like she was hearing them talk through thick glass.

"Put an end to this torment. She has had enough," Thor said, and Loki's fingers came to crawl down her throat to curl around her neck, thumb pressing against the pulse.

"What would you have me do?" He asked, letting her beat travel through his skin, shaking him to the rhythm of the life inside her, the one he conceded her. "Should I end her life?" He pressed too hard, and it was so delightful to see her neck muscles contract when she swallowed, wanting to get rid of the constriction. "If I do that, would that please _your_ father? Would it please you? Would it please that woman?" And he witnessed, the tip of his tongue pressed against his upper lip, as Darcy opened her mouth, struggling to breathe in.

"Loki." Thor had meant to warn him, but it had come off sad and longing.

"_What_?" He snapped, but lightened the pressure around her neck. He removed his hand, and watched the pale likeness of his fingers drawn on her skin. "You said so yourself," he whispered, his voice adopting a menacing tone as he lowly growled. "Do you deny it? Did you not say 'let her have what she owns'?"

"That is not our decision to make, Loki. We must return and seek the counsel of our father…"

"And then _what_?" He looked down at the girl, reaching with a hand to grab her head and have her meet his eyes. "You wish me to stop tormenting her, yet…" Darcy's eyelids were heavy with the spell, on the brink of closing, "…where you plan on taking her, it will await her nothing but torments." He gave a breathy laugh when the girl emitted but a low whine, an incoherent sound, helpless to answer. "Did you know, _brother_, she prays to me? She kneeled before me, and I didn't even have to ask her?"

Loki had intended for it to sound ambiguous, so Thor got angry at his words, and any possible meaning behind them. He grabbed his younger brother by the neck, shaking him, dragging him forward to close the gap, to look at him in the eye. "You let her go. Now." Their noses were almost touching.

Loki snarled, but lifted off the spell.

Darcy quickly straightened, escaping Loki's grasp. She ran outside, back to her room, shouts following her. She dived under the covers, feeling the sun-warmed fabric cling to her. When Jane came, worried out of her wits, Darcy pleaded for something to help her sleep. She wanted to fade into a dreamless sleep. Jane consented, and put one single pill on the girl's awaiting hands. Darcy snatched the bottle, and shook it against her quivering palm; she grabbed the handful of pills and, with Jane's struggle, she only managed to swallow three.

Jane gave up, stepping back to watch Darcy's eyes close and her body flop limply on the mattress.

Sleep came easy, but also her dreams, though they weren't the kind she was dreading.

She woke up in the middle of the night, mildly aware that the walls around her were moving, as if the house was breathing. She stared at the clock, not minding one bit that the hands were rotating counter-clockwise.

When she hopped off bed, the floor under her feet bent inwards under her weight, as if threatening to swallow her. She jumped to the door, and gripped the frame, watching the hall in front of her stretch, and stretch until it was miles long. She started to walk, and, with a loud creak, the hall shortened until she was standing directly in front of the surveillance room.

She opened the white door to stare at thousands of monitors stacked together, piled precariously and covering every wall, becoming walls themselves that reached infinite heights. She looked up, spinning slowly, mesmerized by the thousands of monitors showing nothing but static, static that showered her in a glowing light and lulled her; she let herself lean to the side, and the whole room rocked like a boat, the floor becoming very steep. She braced herself against the monitors, using them to climb her way to the vault. She grabbed the handle, and pulled, noticing how little force she had to use to move the metal structure; it was like opening a door made out of cardboard.

He was sitting on the floor, cross-legged. She thought of him back in that dark temple, and the walls started to crack and crumble, like a building being demolished, to reveal the gloominess of that place.

She glanced around, embracing herself, and her hands came to grab at the familiar material of that green gown. She caught a glimpse of a shadow, here and there, hiding behind the columns. It was closer, closer, closer. Her heart was racing; someone was going to hurt her.

"I don't like it here," Darcy announced with pleading eyes. "Get me out, please."

Then daylight seeped through every crack in the walls, painting the darkness in plain white. The whiteness focused, like she was looking through a camera lens, until it became crisp yellow and pale pink. They were in her old bedroom back at her parents' house. Loki was now sitting on her hot pink rug, next to a pile of stuffed animals. She was wearing her worn SpongeBob shirt and a pair of knickers.

"Huh, why here?" She fell to her knees, settling in front of the god, her skin coming into contact with the black leather of his boot.

The lamp on the nightstand gave off a warm shimmer, washing him in a yellowish light, his pallor quite concealed. He looked human. No traces of bruises or cuts, either.

"Is it really you?" she asked, raising one hand to touch his face. It was marble cold under her fingers.

"Yes."

"How can I make sure I'm not talking to myself?" She wriggled to sit, mimicking his position, her knees pressing against his. It was comical, though, how she sat so straight, but the contrast of their attires dwarfed her. "Can you tell me something I don't know?"

He had looked at her in confusion, light scowl and lips separating a bit. "Do you realize how idiotic that sounds? How can you be sure it would be no more than a fabrication of your own mind if you cannot tell its veracity?"

"That does sound like you," she agreed, slipping both hands down her legs to grab her ankles. It hadn't escaped him how her breasts became squeezed between the columns of her arms. Flustered by his gaze on her, she brought both hands to rest on her knees instead. "We did have a moment," she admitted, very invested in combing the fibers of the rug with her fingers; the task was excuse enough to avoid eye contact. "Can I see it?" she asked excitedly.

"It is under your bed."

Not trusting him completely, she looked to the side, staring at the hem of the white bedding graze the floor. She brought a hand to slip under it, advancing with most caution. She retrieved it, startled, when the digits touched hard, cold metal. She ventured again, and took the helmet by one of the horns. It was so heavy that, the mere act of holding it in the air, made her wrist ache. She raised it over her, steadying it as she let it descend on her head. She had fuller cheeks than the god, and the metal dug in her skin. It was a tight fit.

"Do you enjoy the weight of it on your head?"

"No," she complained, still grabbing the helmet by the horns to ease off the burden. "I would make one badass queen, though," she blurted out, waggling her eyebrows.

"Possibly," he said, forcing their surroundings to shift again.

The softness of the rub vanished under them, replaced by dark, cold and even stone. A floor, dark and bright as polished onyx, stretched under them in a long hallway, reflecting the flames of the two torches by her sides. She looked up to see a light like a huge white screen at the end of that dark corridor.

Loki put one fist on the floor to stand. He was wearing his full armor, cape and all, except for his horns; those, Darcy had to struggle with as she picked herself up, less gracefully. Her feet made smacking sounds as she hurried to catch up to him.

At the end of the hall, there was a chest that gave off a blue light. Standing on a white pedestal, it was both beautiful and haunting.

"Is this Asgard?" she asked, standing in front of the artifact.

He moved to stand at the opposite end, his cape grazing the skin of her bare legs, making her shiver. He contemplated her for a second, before grasping the beginning of his cape; he gave one good tug, and removed the heavy material off his shoulders.

Darcy looked down, embarrassed, as he swung the cape around her shoulders, the ends pooling at her feet. Covered in the green velvet and donning the golden helmet, she looked so tiny.

Now, staring into the azure and glowing light of that chest, she couldn't help reaching with one hand to touch it. She quickly retrieved her hand, as if burned by the contact; it had robbed her of all warmth.

But he could touch it, he caressed it actually, and she was sure she imagined his skin turning the same blue as the cold spread upwards. She must have imagined it.

Then the floor under her became soft, sinking under her weight. The ceiling retrieved and rose until it was hundreds of feet above them, and it bent, until it adopted the shape of a dome. Golden seeped through every pore, like water dampening a linen cloth, and painted every surface in its brightness.

She tried to look up, but her neck doubled under the weight of the golden helmet. His hand shot out to hold the back of her head and stop her from falling backwards.

But she still fell, and fell, in slow-motion, until her body bounced against a mattress. She laughed, closing her eyes, and blinked, forcing time to pick up its pace.

"It's so beautiful," she said, longingly, admiring the patterns on the dome. She stretched, wanting to get rid of the lethargy of a nap she never took. She sat up, letting the cape slide off her bare skin. The green velvet had turned into a fine silk, so rich it felt almost liquid.

A hand came to rest on her thigh, hooked against it, and then it travelled upwards, following the steep curve of her waist. It stopped when the fingers reached her ribcage, fingers mere inches from her breast.

"Is there anything you wish to know?" he asked. His chest pressed to her back, and his long arms came from her sides.

"Yes." She became still, a single finger hovering over her open mouth. "I can't remember." She shrugged, smiling.

Blissfully unaware, she stopped thinking altogether. It had become so tiresome to make the effort to remember, time and time again, especially now, when everything was so warm and comfy around her. She hummed, choosing to play with his long fingers instead; she would push down on the knuckles as if playing piano keys, or put her own hand flat against his, palm against palm, united at the wrists, finding enjoyment in the comparison and blatant difference of sizes.

She looked to the side, wanting to see his face. His hair tickled her nose, and she grabbed it, pulled at it, delighting in its softness. It wasn't stiff as she had expected, but smooth like spun silk.

"Concentrate." His mouth shaped the word, but no sound came, yet her mind put a voice to it, filling the void.

She started to feel strange, like she was becoming very light, about to float away, aimlessly like a balloon. The color on the walls faded, replaced by grey spots that grew like fungus.

"Don't," he commanded, clasping one hand around her thigh quickly, making a slapping sound as it descended on the skin.

Every color and form became sharp and crisp in a second. She blinked. "I was about to wake up, right? That was trippy."

"You wish me to answer something."

"Yes!" She clapped, then she froze again, thinking; her fingers laced as she looked to the side, through the window, at the strokes of silver galaxies painting the dark sky. She smiled, and the night became day, light filling the room, stimulating the gold to shine on her naked skin; she closed her eyes, feeling her skin warm up.

Then she remembered.

"Let her have what she owns," she said, the corners of her mouth turning downwards. Day became night once more.

"To save your life was a mistake," he said, gazing at the hand on her leg; once he removed it, the clear print of his hand remained on her pale skin, red and angry.

"You did save me. I remember. Why?"

"Time." And the mention of the word broke the lock on it, and everything sped up until it was no longer fuzzy and slow. "You will allow me more time."

"What is happening to me?" she asked, coming to her senses.

"But I was too late," he continued, not paying attention to her question. He resumed the former game, playing with her fingers, holding her the wrist and brushing the thumb across the lines of her palm. "She had a hold on you already."

"Who is she?" She started to panic, but didn't turn around. She let his voice travel through her instead, mouth pressed against her temple as he talked.

"Even I could have not foreseen that."

"Foreseen what?"

He raised both hands, fingers apart, and pressed the digits to the helmet. He gave a quick pull, and removed it from her head. He put it on the bed, next to her. The horns almost reached as high as her shoulders. "I have wronged her in the past. She longs for the taste of revenge."

"I am so done with the 20 questions. Could you just tell me everything? Who is-" The words died on her throat, and she only uttered a choked gasp. She already knew the answer. "Death," she breathed out.

"Hela."

Somehow, the two words had sounded similar, like they were the equivalent of one another, but in two different tongues.

"Am I going to die?" She squirmed on the bed, pressing herself closer to him, bringing her knees to her chest to hug them. She leaned back, against the hard line of his chest, allowing their forms to mold, soft and solid, one onto the other. This way, she felt safe. "How much longer do I have?" She forced herself to feel some urgency, but the foggy quality of her dream state put her at complete ease… no, it was his magic.

"You don't get it." He stressed every word, whispering in her ear. "She lacks the power to control fate, but she will stir that small part of you until you have lost your mind."

"Bu-but you are leaving. Can't she let it go?" She stretched her legs, letting the feet dangle over the edge of the mattress.

"Once word has reached her of my departure, she will be very displeased."

"Displeased? We are talking about my life here. What? Am I going to turn into a vegetable?"

"I cannot tell." He grabbed both her shoulders, pushing her forward, away from him into a straight position until she could no longer feel the rumble of his voice against her. "Now you must say my name."

"No!" she shouted. She scrambled, turning to face him, and rose on her knees until their eyes met. "I'll wake up. I know it."

"You must come tomorrow. I will give you something," he said, not reacting to her desperation.

"Great. More magic stuff." She flopped on his thigh, sitting above the knee.

"It will help you. Now say it."

"Can't we just stay here?" She put both hands on the sides of his head. She pressed her forehead, in a pleading motion, against his cheekbone. She breathed out, watching his throat contract as he swallowed.

"I will have to make you then."

She was tenacious; he'd give her that much. She had kept her lips pressed together the entire time. She didn't make a sound, not even when he had put his hands flat against her inner-thighs to part her legs, not when he entered her with one thrust, sensing the very edge.

"Now, say it," he growled lowly in her ear, and felt her head shake in response.

He slipped outside her, his torso elevating and parting from hers as he gripped the edge of the bed, fingers trembling and losing all color with the effort. He licked his lips, readying himself.

"You will say it," he said.

He thrust, using the grip to pull himself forward in one hard motion. The mattress and the whole metal structure slid on its legs, making a screeching sound. She let out a cry, at least. She hadn't meant to, though; it had escaped her. She wanted to resist, though, so she put a hand over her mouth.

She shuddered, fearing the climax, and pressed her knees against his hipbones, wanting him to slow down. He didn't comply, and she bit down hard on his shoulder, making him growl.

But Darcy did say his name, more than that, actually. She screamed it, feeling herself dissolve in her dream and return to the hard reality, as if every molecule in her body had leaked through that golden bed, and had merged again in the other side, gradually taking form. His name – which her dying voice still proclaimed in hoarse moans - rang in her ears, and echoed through the walls. She clasped one hand on her mouth, ashamed and flustered, but everything was silent around her.

She was all alone.

It took her seconds to kick the covers off her and run outside. At the turn of a corner, she collided against a person, and fell on her butt. The woman, who she had run into, had gripped the edge of the wall, and had managed not to fall, but they metal tray with food she had been carrying slipped off her hands, and it fell with a thundering noise that cut through the silence; the plates on it shattered, white shards sliding everywhere.

Darcy was panting, looking up at the woman. Slim and elegant, she was dressed in a simple white shirt and a black pencil skirt. She brushed her ginger bangs with her pinky finger, having them rest across her temple.

"So, you are up," she said. "Watch out for the- yeah, what a disaster, right? I thought you wanted to grab a bite. That was a waste of good breakfast." She didn't look upset, though. She smiled at Darcy.

"Where is everybody?" Darcy picked herself up, putting one hand against the wall. She stood with her feet very close to each other, avoiding the minefield of broken china that surrounded her.

"I am here," the woman offered in a singsong voice, smile broadening. "I am Virginia Potts, Mr. Stark's… everything. Some would call me his glorified babysitter. Ah, if only it was that simple."

"Did they leave?" Darcy insisted.

"Well, no. Dr. Selvig is about finished. They should leave in a couple of hours," Virginia answered. Her eyes widened as she took in the girl's general appearance. She looked wild with her cheeks flushed and her dark hair sticking in every direction. "You could use… hmm. I could walk you to the bathroom, if that's okay with you." She gestured to Darcy's overall looks, not sure where to point because it was all a mess. Then she brought her hand to her mouth, closed in a fist, as if she was about to cough. "Yes. Why don't we… do that? Right now."

"I have to see him."

"Trust me, no one has to see you like this," she said, accomplishing not to sound a tad condescending, just very cheerful.

And time passed. Her body busy with the completion of a human routine, her mind wandered, falling in and out of thought, hopelessly reviving her dream. It was a memory she couldn't quite feel as real, for it had being experienced through the foggy veil of sleep. One thing was sure: she wouldn't share it with the god, for fear of it being her own fabrication, as he would have put it.

She sat still, looking through the tinted windows at the small gathering in the distance. The heroes strolled with ease, forming a circle around the two brothers.

"Should we leave?" Virginia asked, leaning to the side to catch a glimpse of the girl's profile. "No one has to know we were here."

Darcy shook her head. She was resolute on saying goodbye. It crossed her mind as a possibility that he could hug her one last time, but she knew him better than that. Loki would avert his eyes, give her whatever he had promised her, and would disappear for good. And she would be left alone, pretending to be grateful for the effort Jane would put in helping her settle back in the world. It would be a gap in her timeline, one that everyone would avoid to mention in her presence, but would think and mutter in secrecy behind her back. She wondered whether they had chosen a nickname for her yet. If she was lucky, word wouldn't spread out and reach her mother of any of her old college mates. It would be a burden that she should face the world with a smile, while trying to breathe in sweet air to fill the hole in her chest, and swallow to get rid of the lump in her throat.

Darcy opened the door to the back of the limousine, not saying a word; the chauffeur hastily got out, quickly completing the task, and held the door for her. The air was warm, a nice change from the AC-cooled interior of the vehicle. She walked through the park, blending with the few spectators that gathered in a shore around the small gathering of heroes.

She stood there, hidden in the crowd, peeking through the heads.

Erik handed Thor a glass, round vessel containing the infamous blue cube. She feared that was the time, and pushed through the crowd, feeling the bodies turn to face her, some even voiced complaints.

She jogged a few steps, now reaching a spot between the crowd and the gathering. They had turned to watch her. Also, they looked at each other, searching for a silent consensus as to what was to be the proper protocol to deal with any possible scene.

Except for Loki.

He wasn't looking at her. He was looking down, his chin almost touching his own chest. They had him muzzled and cuffed, but Darcy knew he only allowed them the pretense of it. He was impossible to contain. She did notice the bruises and cuts on his face - wounds that he did not have in her dreams -, but they were less noticeable than the day before, already healing.

She stepped forward, breaking into the invisible circle of the gathering, standing mere feet from the gods. Thor looked serious, but calm enough to allow them a moment. He nodded to Loki, and took one step back.

She walked up to Loki. His skin looked pale and waxy under the sun, having a slight yellowish tone, the evidence of complete weariness. She could almost hear everyone holding their breaths as she placed a hand on his upper arm. The leather and metal was cold, and she longed to feel the heat underneath it; she bent her fingers, clawing at the fabric, hating it.

"Make haste, brother," Thor said.

Darcy was glad Loki had talked to him, had refused to have her receive whatever she was to receive without giving them a proper warning. It explained how they all had abstained from jumping between them at the previous contact.

The closest she would get to that hug was him taking her wrist, a delicate touch where he used just his index finger and thumb to clasp it and raise her awaiting hand. Then he put his fist on top of it, giving her a view of the bloody knuckles.

Darcy felt his skin heat up, and she waited, and waited, staring at his closed hand. He unclenched his fingers, one by one, until his palm was flat against hers.

Darcy looked up, lips parting, and brows lifting. She came to realize, too late, that the God of Lies had tricked everyone once more, including her. She barely had time to see the crinkles forming in the corners of his eyes as he put on a smile that the world never saw, but would always remember.

He grasped her wrist and the end handle of the glass vessel that hung from Thor's hand, all in one motion. He turned the handle, and the all three disappeared in a pillar of colorful beams.

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Thanks for reading :) Only the epilogue left. READ&REVIEW~*


	15. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

They didn't stumble, but merely emerged from the spectacle of color. Still as stone monoliths, they stood by the Allfather, unfazed by the travel. The girl, though, lacking the endurance of immortality and divine strength, collapsed to her knees in absolute inertia, as lifeless and limply as they have ever witnessed.

Thousands of eyes widened at the peculiarity; forgotten was the expectative of seeing the Fallen Prince when the figure of a mortal girl lay on the floor of the golden pantheon.

"Brother, how could you?" Thor protested in a grunt so harsh and angry that time seemed to stand still in the wake of Loki's reaction.

"That is a human girl," the Queen said, also ignoring the return of her son, enthralled, as everyone, by the foreign presence. "What is the meaning of this?"

In the silence that followed, and encouraged by Thor's words, they all came to realize this was Loki's doing, another one of his pranks.

The girl was conscious, but barely able to stand properly. Rows of public leaned forward, intrigued to see the revelation of her visage, and when the girl, having picked herself up, parted the curtain of hair that covered her face, they murmured and whispered to one another. They were graced with an alluring creature with soft features, a plump, exquisite mouth, but eyes that held a ludicrous spark of courage.

"What have you done, Loki?" the Queen asked of him. She had also remained quiet during the brief pause. The suspicion of an attachment wasn't too far-fetched because she later added: "She is but a child!"

"She is but a few years younger than that woman Thor is planning to wed." Again, he referred to Jane with disdain.

"Years!" the Queen exclaimed, not helping a smile of incredulity from forming on her lips. "What is to become of us? You will have her returned."

It became entertaining to have them so shocked at the prospect of him bedding a mortal. Loki spoke loudly for every curious spectator to hear: "Why, does Odin Allfather entrust me with the task of delivering this human girl back to Earth?" He let out a breathy chuckle at that. "You know I have the means, you need only command, my liege." He put a hand on his chest, curtsying.

Darcy, the odd one, feared being the recipient of any anger provoked by Loki's words, yet she hid half her body behind him, one hand on his waist as she peeked from behind his form at Odin.

And they all stopped talking, waiting for the king's reply. And the silence pressed and prolonged, until it was interrupted by his voice, one that made the entire chamber tremble with its fury. "Seize him. Get him out of my sight," he commanded.

The sound of a march came from the distance, entering the room along with a group of four soldiers.

Loki didn't move, didn't stop smiling, as he waited for two pairs of hands to grab him by his upper arms, shaking him as they did so, before being dragged outside.

Darcy's shoulder dropped, and she put a hand on her belly, taking a few steps backs, her heels making an offensive clink and clank in the complete quietness. Everyone was looking at her, expecting her to apologize, and beg forgiveness for her very presence. But was the compassion in Thor's eyes that told her that she was to say goodbye to her life; he would deliver her to Hela himself, because that was the right thing to do. Asgard needed no new conflicts to arise, not after the near war with Jötunheim.

There was a collection of gasps and more whispers as the girl ran, following the Fallen Prince.

Darcy caught up to Loki, scurrying between the two soldiers in his trail to grasp a handful of black leather. He immediately responded to her touch, and snatched his arms away from the clutches of the soldiers. He turned, looking down at her standing squeezed between the two soldiers.

She smiled, glad to have his attention. "Fuck Hela," Darcy said. "She can keep my foot up her ass if she likes." And this comment earned some more gasps of shock and a hearty laugh from the God of Mischief.

"This will be the end of us all," the queen said, sounding quite resigned.

* * *

That's it! I can't contain my happy right now, you guys! Thank for the reviews!

So should I keep updating this, instead of changing the status to complete? I think. I don't know! HELP ME!

I say this is fairly short, but I was always the kind to write short stories. I'm always seriously amazed at all those fics that are 100+ thousands words and are posted under 4 months! How can people write so fast? What is this sorcery?

Read&Review~ Shower me with suggestions, please, I beg you, because from now on this is gonna be all original, you guys! And I'm gonna take a while before updating again.

**Update**: I'm changing the status of this fic to complete, but I'm writing a sequel. Keep reviewing though, you sexy readers. I'm all ears, suggestions are welcome! Prob by the end of this month I'll post the sequel. Thanks again!


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